


The Bookshop Around the Corner

by mordelle



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Humor, Anonymity, Aziraphale Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has PTSD (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a medically discharged veteran, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Brit-Picked, British English, Crowley Has Issues (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Don't be rude., Dr. Lecter will eat you, Each one has a turn being top/bottom, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Gay Male Character, Human AU, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, No need to police what is "realistic" or no, Pansexual Character, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Soulmates, Switch Aziraphale (Good Omens), Switch Crowley (Good Omens), This is an outlandish rom com and that's all this is, old, rad, with a side of fava beans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 70,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23793337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordelle/pseuds/mordelle
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley is a cynical book critic who doesn't believe in love. Aziraphale Z. Fell, is a bookshop owner and romance novelist. Aziraphale's godson good-naturedly sends Aziraphale's romance novel to the famous critic, who writes him an unmerited, awful review. Both are enamoured with an anonymous friend from a respectable book forum. Little do they know they have unwittingly fallen in love with each other in their sanctuary of anonymity.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1363
Kudos: 1067
Collections: Bittersweet Good Omens, Good Omens Human AUs, Good omens shop human aus, My favorite AU fics, The Good Omens Collection, The Good Omens Library





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After, quite honestly, very little temptation, I have decided to just post the first chapter already. This story is based on the old film from the 1940's called The Shop Around the Corner. It's about a pair who despise each other in real life but who has fallen in love with one another through anonymous letters. There was a musical based on this film and the film You've Got Mail is based on it as well. My outline for this fic is complete! I will be tackling chapter 2 today.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you beta's and Brit-picker: Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink

At a very young age, Anthony J. Crowley was introduced, like many children are, to fairy tales. Knights in shining armour, true love's kisses, and love at first sight. Little Anthony cherished those stories so much that he learned to read before his peers could even say the alphabet in the correct order without having to sing it.

Then he met Charlie and fell head over heels in love. It was an innocent infatuation that set off a chain reaction for the rest of little Anthony's life.

Anthony had been too shy to approach his boyfriend at first. That's what he called Charlie and, no, Charlie did not know he was secretly spoken for. Because little Anthony barely had a frontal lobe at the time, he did what any child might do to get his boyfriend's attention; make a fool of himself. Anthony did succeed in gaining Charlie's attention, but he also gained it from the rest of the class and his teachers. Little Anthony saw a lot of corners during that time, always getting into trouble.

On the outside, the only thing all the grownups and other kids saw was a mean little menace who never behaved. If only someone with a fully developed frontal lobe had sat down with him and asked him what was wrong, his life probably would have turned out differently. Alas, no one saw what was on the inside, a little boy who just wanted a special friend, a friend to love and laugh with. A friend to push on the swings, and play pretend. A friend to hold his hand and give him hugs.

It stands to reason that because Anthony fell in love so young, he'd also experience heartbreak in those pivotal years of development. And he did. Even though many tears were shed, it did not dissuade Anthony from believing his one true love was out in the world somewhere, at least not until "one true love" number three. But before Anthony experienced how messy love could be, he had hope. He was willing to wait for his soul mate, and while Anthony waited, he read books. The kind of books one might be embarrassed to share, especially when one is male and expected to be a certain way.

Anthony's mother pretended not to notice her romance novels disappearances. She encouraged his hobby by frequently trading in old books for new ones and leaving them discreetly out in the open. She thought it was cute. His father did not. So, Anthony learned to keep his romantic notions to himself and act like a  _ man _ . 

When Anthony actually became a man, he quickly realised that fairy tales were just that, fairy tales. After meeting and loving soulmate after soulmate, well, he lost hope. Anthony was still too young to be bitter about love, but by age twenty-three, he'd had it. Anthony donated all of his romance novels to a library. The love between him and books, at least, was dependable. So although he didn't give up reading entirely, he did replace his love stories with stories about adventure, mystery, horror, religion, atheism, and textbooks.

It was no surprise to anyone that A.J. Crowley became one of the most influential book critics in the country. It was also no surprise that he also became a bitter, miserable arsehole. A bitter, miserable arsehole to anyone, even his plants. The only being on the planet who ever saw his soft side, was his nephew, Warlock.

Soft, little Anthony became the hardened, cold Crowley. Only family kept calling him Anthony, no one else was allowed. It was his conscious buffer against letting anyone get too close. His other shield was his sunglasses, which he wore about seventy-five per cent of the time. 

He never wore them when alone, in his barren, grey flat, while watering his emotionally abused plants. He didn't wear them while watching telly on his sleek but uncomfortable sofa. Crowley especially did not wear them while chatting anonymously with the closest thing he'd call a friend; a fellow book lover online. The only other clever person in a book forum chock full of idiots. At age forty-two, Crowley was still a bachelor and the only truly meaningful relationships in his life were with his nephew and a username; @AngelCrepes75.

> _ Dear @demoneyes666, _
> 
> _ I'm afraid I disagree with you entirely. Romance novels, albeit not all or most of them nowadays, have a much more important role than to plant seeds of impossible expectations in people's heads. They can serve to teach people about healthy relationships, and show them what real love could be like. In a world so full of misfortune, sadness, and broken relationships, it is vital for us to have some hope. I believe romances–even the horribly predictable drivel that most consume–can help a person feel like they can carry on in this world. A promise of happily ever at the end of a book can truly have a powerful impact on mental and emotional health. Not to mention, romance novels have been a pivotal medium for feminists. Most romance authors are written by women, after all. _
> 
> _ Respectfully, @AngelCrepes75. _

Crowley scoffed and shook his head fondly as he reread the message from Angel for the third time. They usually never disagreed regarding most things, but love, a higher power, and food? Always. For some reason, that never really bothered Crowley. Maybe it was because Angel was always so damn polite, even when being a complete snobbish bastard. Angel could hold their own, that was for sure, and Crowley respected people who stuck to their guns–no matter how wrong they were.

There were other replies to Angel's comment, but Crowley did not bother to read those. Their opinions didn't matter to him, and they all hated him for it, the dull sods.

Not for the first time, Crowley wondered if he should extend an invitation to meet in person. All he knew about Angel was that they lived in the UK. They were always carefully vague about everything else. But Crowley lived in London, and he would have been willing to make a short trip to meet the mysterious Angel. 

Crowley's fingers hovered over the mousepad, hesitant to reply. Finally, he clicked on Angel's profile and then clicked on the private message button. He took a deep breath, and then his fingers typed out his message quickly.

> _ Hey Angel, _
> 
> _ I saw your comment, and I guess we will have to agree to disagree yet again. Bantering with you is always a pleasure, no matter how mistaken you are.  _
> 
> _ ;) _
> 
> _ It's been over a year now, and there still isn't anyone else I'd rather disagree with... _

Crowley's heart hammered in his chest. With sweaty fingers, he continued on with his message.

> _ I was wondering if you'd like to meet up sometime? I know we've been keeping things very close to the vest, but I've come to think of you as a friend. Believe me, that's saying something coming from me. I'm not the easiest person to get along with. No surprise there, I'm sure. Anyway, you can turn me down, no pressure or anything. Just thought I'd ask. _
> 
> _ Best Regards,  _
> 
> _ Demon _

Crowley read over his message until his amber eyes dried up. He rubbed them, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Then he highlighted everything and deleted it all. This was also something he'd done many times before. 

It's not that Crowley didn't want to meet Angel. He definitely wanted to, but he was old and wise enough to know the signs of infatuation. The only thing keeping him from falling in love with Angel completely was the sanctuary of anonymity. Even if Angel turned out to be an old hag, Crowley would probably jump straight into their arms at the earliest opportunity. Sex, gender, presentation, none of it kept Crowley's heart in check. So, the only way to not dive head-first into another crippling heartbreak was to stay well enough away from pretty much everyone.

Anyway, he was pretty sure that Angel would not be interested in a lanky, cynical old ginger, no matter how successful he was. Crowley still dressed modern and dyed the grey out of his hair, but once the sunnies came off, it was clear he was over the hill. At his age, he was lucky to find a one night stand, which were few and far between even before he turned forty.

Crowley's watch sounded off, letting him know it was time to head for work. With a groan, he closed his laptop and took one last look around his empty, always cold flat. He nodded curtly and sniffed as he stood.

"Better alone than badly accompanied," he grumbled as he made his way out the door.

* * *

Fell and co, merely referred to as the bookshop around the corner, was as old as the hills. It had been passed down from Fell to Fell without fail since eighteen-hundred. Unfortunately, the Fell legacy would probably end with Aziraphale Z. Fell, because, at age forty-three, he was still a bachelor and gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide. His very Catholic parents, seemingly old and frail but definitely not, never failed to ask him when he would settle down with a nice lady and give them grandchildren. Aziraphale would patiently remind them that he came out to them while still in the army, and that he'd be lucky to find a man to settle down with, especially with him being past his prime, such as he was.

Fell senior would pointedly disregard the reminder and then suggest Aziraphale lose the gut and dye his white-blond hair and "Bob's your uncle." Being a bit of a bastard, Aziraphale's usual response to that would be somewhere along the lines of "I'd much rather Bob be my  _ husband _ who doesn't mind the  _ gut _ , but to each their own, I suppose."

Aziraphale loved the bookshop, he really did. It was his home, figuratively and literally because he lived in the flat just above it. His fondest memories were made in that shop, surrounded by his beloved books. The smell of old pages, the taste of dust in the air, the feel of a hardcover in his hands, even the soft murmuring of customers filled his heart with a lovely sense of peace.

However, what Aziraphale did  _ not _ love was  _ dealing _ with customers. People were a constant interruption to the work he actually wanted to do, which was to write his novels—romance novels, to be precise, which is why he hired the self-proclaimed witch, Anathema Device to take some of the load off. Anathema would take the helm, and he would wander to the backroom, sit before his ancient type-writer, and clack away. 

Anathema had been due to arrive to open the shop with him, but Aziraphale had time to accomplish one more thing in his morning routine; check to see if he had any replies to his comment on the Online Book Club. Or rather, check to see if a particular demon responded with their usual cheek.

It always took about five minutes for Azirphale's computer to boot up, which never really bothered him. He honestly wasn't even aware newer computers were capable of "waking up" faster. Aziraphale was not a tech-savvy man. He hardly ever used his mobile of the  _ flip-phone _ variety, and his computer ran on prayer.

Beeps and boops of the computer sounded off just as he sipped the last of his cocoa. Aziraphale didn't bother checking his emails or the news, no, he went straight to the forum and scanned for his thread. 

There it was, a short reply from @demoneyes666, an awful username Aziraphale believes was put to use just because his own username had "angel" in it. His chosen moniker had nothing to do with Aziraphale's beliefs, but rather with his favourite crepe stand as a boy, Angel Crepes. Unfortunately, it no longer existed, and the only crepes that came close to that heavenly taste were all the way in Paris.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and began to read.

> _ @angelcrepes75 oh angel, angel, angel. It seems that one of us is wrong and I will humbly and graciously be the one to say that it's you.  _

Aziraphale could not help but chuckle and reread the first sentence several times before moving on.

> _ The genre of romance is not only full of the drivel you mentioned above, but also addles the minds of the poor humans who still believe in true love. I agree with you that those useless stories inspire hope, except it is a false hope that spreads like a plague, sending people off into the world looking for their non-existent soulmate. I'd rather live in reality and have no such expectations. Hey, if I'm wrong, then at least I'll be pleasantly surprised instead of being monumentally disappointed.  _
> 
> _ By the way, angel, I finally got around to rereading Hamlet, and I must say... it's as depressing as I remember. You are positively BARMY if you think it is superior to Midsummer or ANY of the funny ones for that matter!  _

"Lord," Aziraphale breathed with amused exasperation, "the one who doesn't believe in love finds Hamlet too depressing." 

He shook his head and sighed. He was used to the demon's cynicism, but whenever they discussed love, Aziraphale couldn't help but feel rejected. It was a ridiculous notion, but he couldn't help it. Aziraphale had been so close to asking the demon if they could meet in person almost right away. Everyone else found him to be a bother, but the demon knew their stuff. They were intelligent and witty, and even though they were snarky and rude to the others, the demon was always kind to him. In fact, the demon was a bit of a flirt. 

Alas, Aziraphale's hopes of meeting his anonymous friend were dashed the moment he realised the demon found the notion of romantic love abhorrent. It should not have stopped Aziraphale from trying to make an "in real life" friend, but he dreaded finding out if the demon was a man. Aziraphale had been under the impression that the demon was, in fact, male. Then what? Undoubtedly become infatuated with someone who most likely wasn't gay, near his age, and who scorned romance?! Absolutely not. No. Aziraphale would not do that to himself. Better to keep things as they were, he thought sensibly.

His online friendship would have to be enough to satisfy some of the empty space he longed to fill. The love of his life could one day walk through his door looking for a book, or maybe he'd bump into him at a cafe, or maybe he'd never meet him at all. Aziraphale didn't necessarily believe in soulmates, but he did believe that in a world that held almost eight billion people, there was bound to be someone out there, maybe even several someone's, who wouldn't mind his old fashioned ways, or his snobbish taste in food, wine and books. Someone who had the patience to put up with a boring older man. Someone who would cherish his flaws as much as they admired his strengths, especially the flaw that protruded a bit over the belt.

A knock at the door jolted Aziraphale out of his sad musings. He looked at his watch. Anathema was right on time. With a pop of his weak knee, Aziraphale stood to greet the witch and get to work. Love or no, it was an exciting day. Aziraphale would finally finish the last of the rewrites of his novel. 

"What are you going to do with it when it's done," Anathema asked for the umpteenth time since he'd started it.

"Well, I still haven't had any luck with finding an agent. Self-publishing would be too much of a project for me, I'm afraid."

"You could always send it to The Morningstar Paper, to that critic you're always talking about."

Aziraphale gasped, scandalised. "Send my book to A.J. Crowley? So the foul fiend can tear it to pieces and ruin my chances of ever getting published? No, my dear. No."

Anathema groaned and rolled her eyes. "Aziraphale, from what you've let me read, your book is amazing! You've said so yourself that a good review from that prick has gotten hundreds of authors published! I have no doubt your book will knock his socks off, and you'll be famous before you can finish saying your whole name."

"The day I sprout wings is the day I will let that devil critique my work, dear. Not a day sooner."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to keep writing! So, you might be seeing quick updates! 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! Thank you, my discord pals, for the encouragement! You guys rock!
> 
> And a huge thank you to Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for the beta and Brit-picking work!
> 
> Art by freedomattack_thereal

The bookshop always closed on Sundays. It had begun as a requirement to rest on the seventh day, but as the world got busier and larger, it became more of a tradition. When the world became overwhelmed with people who knew nothing but work at all given hours of the day, Sunday's became stocking and inventory day. That wouldn't stop customers from trying to get it in. Sometimes they just didn't know what day of the week it was, let alone the store hours.

The door rattled followed by an angry grumbling about stores being closed on the weekends. Aziraphale ignored it as he looked through his ledger, his small, round-framed spectacles perched on his nose. 

"How were our profits this week, Anathema?" He called over his shoulder.

"Not done yet, but it's looking good!"

The backdoor clicked open and then shut, followed by the pattering of young, enthusiastic feet. Before Aziraphale could turn around, his godson had nearly tackled him to the ground in his excitement to greet him.

"Goodness," Aziraphale exclaimed after he reclaimed his breath and his knee creaked from the added weight. "Adam! What a surprise! Where is your mother?"

The boy smiled up at his godfather. "She dropped me off. I'm supposed to work for you, remember? For my community service points?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Well, I suppose I can teach you to do inventory–"

Adam let out a loud snore with his eyes closed.

Aziraphale gave his head a small whack with his clipboard, which elicited a laugh from the boy. "You're not as amusing as you think you are, rascal. If you don't want to learn this, you can clean."

"I _love_ inventory!" Adam said with an immediate change in tune. "And anyway, I should know how to do everything here because one day, I'll own this shop."

"Yes, you will, as long as it's still standing when I'm ashes in the wind."

"That was morbid," Anathema muttered from the till.

"Nonsense," Aziraphale bantered, "it's just life." He furrowed his brow and frowned. "Or death, rather. Hm. Maybe a tad morbid..."

"Mum says you can still have kids as long as your stuff still works, so I wouldn't put me on your will yet, uncle."

Anathema barked out a laugh and immediately stifled it. 

Aziraphale's eyes fluttered with bemusement. "My _stuff_ is no one's business but my own, thank you. And my appeal for the adoption denial was also, sadly, denied. Which means you, my dear boy," he handed over the clipboard and pen to his godson as if passing down a crown and sceptre, "are still my valiant successor."

Adam groaned but smiled anyway and took on his duty with pride. As they finished the task, a ping from the computer in the backroom sounded off. Like Pavlov's dog, Aziraphale reacted instantaneously, whirling around with owl eyes. His heart picked up its pace, and his ears burned. 

"Oo," Anathema cooed, "someone's special friend is a-callin’!"

Adam sniggered. "You should ask him out.

Clearing his suddenly parched throat, Aziraphle adjusted his bowtie that fully intended to asphyxiate him. "Firstly, they may not be a _him..."_

"Fifty-fifty chance," Anathema grinned and waggled her eyebrows.

He glared back at her while he slowly and absolutely casually made his way to the backroom. "Secondly, even if they are a _him_ , they may not be... on my side of the fence, so-to-speak. "

"You mean gay?" Adam piped up.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Yes, Adam, I mean gay."

"Even more than a fifty-fifty chance," Anathema refuted, "the spectrum is vast and varied, boss. Plus, I know he's a _he,_ and I know you're _his_ type." 

"Oh, did you have a vision?" Adam asked, excited.

Anathema frowned. "Well, no. Not yet, anyway. But I just _know_ . And before you say he's probably too young for you, _Aziraphale_ ," she pointed an accusing finger at him, "I'm pretty sure he's about your age too."

Aziraphale straightened and lifted his nose pompously. "I thought you just _knew_ things. Why are you suddenly ' _pretty sure.'"_

"That's just an educated guess. You know, the powers of deduction, elementary Watson? I've looked at that forum, and there is no way anyone there is younger than their late thirties."

Aziraphale scoffed. "How is that elementary?" 

Anathema smiled wide and smugly. "Because the forum is most active on Fridays and Saturdays and flatlines after eight pm regardless of the day. So, not only are old nerds on that forum, they're probably _single_ old nerds."

There was a pregnant pause while everyone just blinked at each other.

"I don't know whether I should be impressed or insulted right now," Aziraphale admitted.

"Definitely insulted," Adam supplied helpfully. "Or sad. Depressed? Melancholic? Despondent?"

"I see your vocabulary has improved considerably whilst under my wing," Aziraphale deadpanned, then turned on his heel with a huff and marched to his computer.

Adam laughed and made his way behind the till as Anathema packed up to leave. "Did he finish it?"

"Yep!"

"Cool. I wonder what he's going to do now. Maybe he can just sell the book here?"

Anathema sighed. "It won't sell anywhere if we leave him to it. I swear, I think he'd be pleased as punch just to shelve it after he's put a cover on it." She shook her head and shrugged. "I think he should send it to that Crowley guy. I know two people who've landed an agent and gotten published after sending their stuff to him, but Aziraphale won't budge. Ugh! It could be so successful, but you know him, stubborn and-and-and" she flailed her arms around with frustration, "content!"

"You know I can hear you, yes?" Aziraphale shouted from the back room.

Anathema shook her fist silently at the closed door.

"I can hear that too!"

Anathema growled, said her goodbyes and went on her way.

Adam locked up behind her and then joined his godfather who was hunched over and squinting at the computer screen.

"Even with my glasses on, this blasted font is so tiny," he muttered with annoyance.

Adam shook his head and paused in front of the finished manuscript on Aziraphale's desk. "Can I read it?"

"Hm?" Aziraphale glanced his way and realised he was talking about his book. "Oh," he turned back to the screen, "I don't think your mother would approve of the content."

"So? Didn’t you read stuff at my age your mum didn't want you reading?"

"No."

"Liar." Adam grabbed the manuscript and plopped onto the old sofa. "You haven't bitten my head off yet, so I'm taking that as permission."

Aziraphale waved a hand dismissively. "If that were the only copy, I'd have done more than bite your head off, dear boy," he murmured while rereading the comment.

And so, Adam began to read.

Aziraphale had no qualms about his godson reading his novel. The thirteen-year-old would probably find it boring and switch over to his fancy mobile soon enough. He tried to hide his smile while reading the demon's new message.

> _@angelcrepes75 which film or television adaptations do you think are as good or better than the book? Let's tackle the popular ones! I, for one, think that Game of Thrones can stand on its own as a show. The Harry Potter films were all atrocities. Most, if not all, of Stephen King's novels have been butchered by Hollywood, but let's be honest, he butchers his own stories all by himself just fine. Lord of the Rings was alright–who am I kidding? I love those films! Please don't shit on them, or you'll break my heart._

Aziraphale scratched his chin and felt his cheeks were hurting. How long had he been smiling like a fool?

> _@demoneyes666 I don't watch much television, and I don't much go to the cinema, though I did see Lord of the Rings and enjoyed it well enough. The second instalment, I can't say really because I fell asleep. Though I suppose that means something in and of itself. I can say I've seen every adaptation of Jane Eyre and have been disappointed repeatedly. I did enjoy the 1983 mini-series even though I was just a–_

Aziraphale's fingers froze on the keys. He was about to divulge, not only his sex but his approximate age. He moved a finger over to the delete button but couldn't bring himself to push it. Why not? Why not leave those clues? It would not be harmful, he didn't think. Maybe the demon would even reciprocate, and Aziraphale could finally put his mind to rest. Prove Anathema wrong once and for all. He continued typing.

> _...even though I was just a young lad and had not read the novel._

There. He had done it. Indirectly divulged personal information– _harmless_ personal information. He reread his message and almost sent it, but paused after thinking about adding one more thing.

> _I dare say, even though I was just a child, I thought Timothy Dalton was quite dashing. Maybe too fetching to be Rochester, but lovely to look at nonetheless._

Aziraphale hit the send button without really thinking. There it was. His message for all to see.

"Oh, shit."

"Did you just say shit?!" Adam exclaimed with delight.

"Language, young man," Aziraphale said automatically while still having a rather too quiet anxiety attack. "Shit."

Adam snorted and was about to say something snarky when a small honk came from outside. "That's my mum," Adam sighed and stood up. "Hey, uncle Az, can I take this with me? I actually like it a lot. I'd like to finish it."

Aziraphale muttered some kind of affirmative to who knows what his godson was saying to him. His unblinking eyes were glued to the screen, and he could not look away. "Hm... rather... mind how you go..."

Adam frowned at the odd reply but shrugged and shoved the manuscript in his bag. "Okay, see you tomorrow after school!"

"Uh, huh..." Aziraphale didn't even hear the door close. "Shit."

* * *

Word of mouth is a vital advertising tool for anyone trying to sell something, even if one is only establishing an idea. Enough people who agree on the same things run the world, especially if those who have a lot of money to spread those ideas and products to the masses. Morningstar Press had that kind of money. They were a successful paper and had moved with the times to stay relevant in the digital age. Their news was quite influential with the most talented journalists on their roster. 

Unfortunately, like any other private media outlet, ratings were gold that couldn't be mined enough. Everyone had to keep the ratings in mind, and if one didn't, the bosses wouldn't just send strongly worded notes, they'd do much worse. Crowley, to his dismay, was also chained to the heavy ball of ratings. Since bad news gets the best numbers, bad book reviews were his duty to keep pumping out. 

Crowley wasn't a complete monster. He would read every book that ended up on his desk, whether it seemed like eye-rolling material or not. Those that were rubbish were the ones that got featured the most, the ones that were so-so got tossed. The good ones, he would recommend to agents and publishers alike, but most of those that met his high standards were infrequently reviewed, unless... Unless the book was so mind-blowingly good, that Crowley would fight tooth and nail to feature them in the paper and his top five picks of the week. That was his penance for ruining careers and dashing dreams. Though, he did love tearing up bad stories or writing to shreds when he thought it deserved it.

A loud knock came after the intruder was at Crowley's desk. "Crowley," his boss drawled his greeting.

Crowley didn't look up from his work. "Hastur," he greeted back with as much boredom he could manage.

"You're late. Again."

"Am not," Crowley refuted while continuing to scribble away. "Deadline is first thing tomorrow, which is why my sorry arse is here on a fucking Sunday."

Hastur sat on his desk and loomed over his subordinate. "Working on a bad one?"

Crowley pursed his lips and clenched his pen tighter. He didn't need to answer.

"Because that's what we need. You're getting too soft."

"Am not." Crowley finally looked up into the shark eyes of his boss. "Look, I haven't run into rubbish this past week–a miracle I know-"

"I don't care," Hastur sucked in a breath through his teeth, "do you know why?"

Crowley sighed and droned his answer, "Because B doesn't–

"Because B doesn't care," Hastur said as if Crowley hadn't spoken at all. "She wants a funny one this time."

"Funny?"

"You know what I mean, the shit you're actually good at. Making fun of wannabe authors. It makes people laugh. Makes people _click here_. So, that's what's gonna be on my desk tomorrow morning. Yeah?"

"Look, Has–"

"Good talk, Crowley. See you tomorrow." Hastur left, leaving a stench of the lavatory's Poo Pourri behind.

Crowley mouthed a silent "fuck" and then dragged a hand over his face. A small _ping_ made him forget all of his worries and frustrations. He clicked through all the open tabs in a frenzy until he found the forum and Angel's message.

"Doesn't watch telly?! Fell asleep?! And..." he read the rest again just to make sure he didn't imagine it. Then he read it again. And again. Finally, the information registered, and he could feel the blood drain out of his face.

Angel was a man. 

Angel was a man in his early to mid-forties.

Angel was gay.

Angel was a gay man in his early to mid-forties.

"Oh, shit."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of DRAD and OLD. Mentions of divorce.
> 
> Thank you beta's and Brit-picker Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
> 
> Art by freedomattack_thereal on Instagram!

Adam didn’t sleep. He had stayed up all night reading his godfather's book. Riveted by the characters and plotline, he almost forgot who wrote the thing! Adam could not believe his godfather was wasting away in a bookshop when he could be _signing_ books at bookshops! 

Adam's alarm clock suddenly sounded off, followed quickly by a knock on his door. "Adam, dear, time to get up. Please don't make me have to–"

Adam yanked the door open, scaring his mother out of her wits. "Mum!"

"Ffffff–fudge nuggets!" Diedre placed a hand to her pounding chest. Her eyes went wide as she looked her son over. "You're up? You're _dressed_?! What did I do to deserve this miracle?"

"Mum, listen–"

"Are those yesterday's clothes?" She gasped. "Look at your eyes! Did you stay up all night?!"

"Mum! I'm ready for school, yeah? That's all that matters. Now, listen, erm, I forgot to tell you that uncle Az gave me his book to–"

"Aziraphale gave you his precious manuscript?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Yes! So, look–"

"Wait, his _romance_ novel? The one he was writing? He gave you a _sex_ book?!" She nearly shrieked.

Adam groaned and yanked on his hair. "It's not a _sex_ book, it's a _good_ book, like, a _brilliant_ book, and we need to submit it to the Morningstar Paper!"

"Why?"

"Because..." Adam knew he had to lie. He didn't want to, but he had to and that had to be okay. He was doing a good thing for his godfather. "Because he asked me to, erm, yesterday." He swallowed hard and waited for his mother to catch his fib.

Diedre shook her head and sighed. "As always, waiting until the last minute. Fine. Hurry up. You can't be late for school again."

His mother walked to the kitchen grumbling, and Adam let out a long and relieved sigh. It was fine. It was good. 

He was doing a good thing.

* * *

Crowley did not sleep. Crowley did not go home. He wasn't even tired, really. He had stayed in the office typing like he had twenty fingers. Did he work on his assignment? Did he have some kind of luck finding an absolute shit book? Did he somehow have an epiphany spurred by pressure and survival instinct to keep his job?

No.

Crowley did not work on his assignment. He did not read through any new material, and he definitely did not have an epiphany no matter how much he wanted to keep his job.

What Crowley did do was start an extensive auto-biography to send to Angel. He'd start document after document, trying to come up with the perfect response but he always divulged too much, not enough, or seemed desperate. Which he was, very desperate. Frantic to know what Angel looked like, what he did for a living, what his shoe size was, etc. Angel was always careful with his words, so indirectly telling Crowley he was a single gay man in his forties had to mean he'd done it on purpose because he wanted Crowley to bite at the bait. 

And was he biting! Chomping at the bit, frothing at the mouth while his wrists threatened to go on strike and walk out the door without him.

> @angelcrepes75 I'm a pansexual man in my forties, diagnosed with disinhibited reactive attachment disorder as a kid, which then sort of extended to obsessive love disorder. I can blame my shit childhood on that. I am very aware of my issues and go to therapy and take my medications regularly, so don't worry. I'm not going to hunt you down and stalk your every move, haha! Etc...

Obviously, many of his drafts did not make the cut. Basically, none of them did. Neither did this one:

> @angelcrepes75 You should know right away, I’ve got some issues. Number one being, I'm an arsehole, but it really comes from a desperate need to be loved! I'm pretty well off, a bit famous in a way actually, but I hate my job. I hate my employer. I hate a lot of things and a lot of people. Did I mention I'm single? Etc...

Or this one:

> @angelcrepes75 Ho-boy did you open up pandora's box! You are trying to ask me out, yeah? If so, yes. Let's meet up. Anywhere. Even if you're across the bloody globe. I'm in London. My address is... etc...

Not this one either:

> @angelcrepes75 You're gay? That's cool. I'm pan. Forty-two. I'm a Scorpio and like long walks on the beach. My dream wedding would be... etc...

Crowley's vision was blurred, his eyes were bloodshot, his hair sticking up in all directions, shirt unbuttoned and tie hanging around his neck like a noose before a hanging when his alarm went off, letting him know it was time to get up and take Warlock to school. His bleary eyes that he couldn't close because of how dry they were, peered down at his watch in confusion.

"Wha–aw, fuck!" Crowley shot out of his chair and patted himself as if looking for something but not knowing what.

There was already commotion in the office because of everyone's impending deadlines. Crowley was sure he wasn't the only one who didn't go home the previous night. His suspicions were proven correct when the office clerk of his department rushed into his office with wild eyes and shaky hands, holding a cup of coffee. Dagon was a trans man with a filthy mouth who was even more obsessive-compulsive than Crowley, which is why he was so good at his job. His files were _flawlessly_ archived. Crowley could say a lot about Morningstar Press, but snubbing diversity was not one of them. They at least made a point to hire talented people from all walks of life. Some journalists didn't even have proper degrees. Morningstar only wanted to know you could do your job, and do it to perfection.

"I got your email, ya prick," Dagon groused, "and, no, I don't have new material for you. We get less and less as time goes by because everyone is too fucking scared of you ripping them new arseholes."

Crowley growled, finally remembering he needed his mobile, keys and wallet. "This is B's fault! Tell her that my assignment is going to be late and it's _her_ fault!"

"Yeah, 'course, should I pick up your dry cleaning and wipe your arse after taking your mornin' shit as well? You have an assistant, Crowley, and I'm not him."

Crowley slapped his sunnies on and snarled again. "Eric doesn't come in until eight. Can you please, pretty please–"

"Shove it up your arse," Dagon spat out as he stormed out of the office.

"You're quite obsessed with arses, you know?!" Crowley shouted after them.

Dagon was quick to shout back. "Have it every mornin' for breakfast!"

" _Nngah!"_ Crowley gagged at the intrusive and very unwanted image of Dagon eating arse. "Why-why- _why_?" He continued spontaneously gagging all the way to the Bentley. At least it kept him awake while on the road to his sister's place, half-sister anyway. He nearly drove through her fence but managed to stop in time after a good slap to his own face. 

Warlock threw open the door before Crowley could knock. "Get me out of this madhouse, uncle A.J.!" Warlock shouted and then stormed out and into the car.

"Okay then..." Crowley muttered about to turn around before Harriet pulled the door open wider and shouted by his ear.

"Don't talk to me like that, young man! I'm your mother! And for the record, chocolate milk is not a suitable breakfast! Tell him, Anthony!"

Crowley pulled his finger out his ear and scowled at his sister. "You don't have to talk to him like that, Harriet."

"I told you to stop telling me how to raise my kid. You wouldn't understand because you don't have any," she groused back and then immediately regretted it. She knew how much he had wanted children in the past, but if he was bothered by what she said, he didn't show it. He never showed it. "Sorry," she mumbled. Harriet finally got a good look at her brother and gasped. "What the hell happened to you?"

Crowley frowned and looked down at himself. "Oh. Erm, nothing, just had a late–"

"Oh, no." Harriet cocked a brow knowingly.

"What?"

"You met someone."

Crowley pursed his lips and internally derided himself for being so fucking obvious. "Nah. Just stayed at the office. Late for an assignment."

"Because you met someone."

"Nope!" He popped the _p_ and sauntered to his car, hoping he looked suave and not like a drunk lizard with hair.

"You're still going to therapy, right?!" Harriet called after him. "You know how you get! I can't have you going on a bender in the middle of my divorce, Anthony!!"

Crowley plastered a dangerous, toothy smile on his face and waved goodbye while muttering unintelligible obscenities under his breath. "Hang on to something, kid."

"Yes!"

Crowley peeled out of the driveway, still smiling at Harriet while she yelled with outrage. 

"You look like shit," Warlock pointed out.

The dark-haired barely-a-teenager next to him had no filter whatsoever. "Thanksss."

"Did you meet someone or something?"

"For fuck's sake."

* * *

Aziraphale did not sleep. He didn't even go up to his flat. He told himself he was writing, and in a sense, he was. Writing apology after apology and then reminding himself he had nothing to apologise for! All he did was answer a question. He didn't even ask for a reply back, so it should not have bothered Aziraphale in the least that the demon had yet to respond. Oh, but he had been forward, hadn't he? Outing himself on a forum full of strangers and fishing for a potential relationship was something a teenager would do. Not a grown man with more white on his head than a snowman! 

What if the demon felt like he was coming on to them? Which he was. Sort of. Or what if the demon no longer wanted to talk to him because he was gay?

"Well, to hell with them then!" Aziraphale said while pacing in front of his computer. 

Oh, but how he would miss talking to them! He hoped there was another reason, a perfectly good reason why the demon had stayed silent. After all, Aziraphale couldn't well expect the demon to be glued to the computer all day just waiting for him, now could he?

"Maybe I should send him a private message," he mused aloud.

"Send who a private message?"

Aziraphale hadn't jumped that high since basic training. "Anathema, good lord! "

The witch's eyes were wide behind her glasses as she looked him over. "You were up all night. What happened? Cybersex? How was it? Tell me everything!"

"Cyber-what?! No! No, nothing like that. Good heavens, is that a thing?" Aziraphale asked nervously.

Anathema smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Why? Asking for a friend?"

Aziraphale gave her a withering look while wringing his hands. "Oh, God. What if they think that's what I'm after?! Oh, no. I must write to them, privately, and explain... explain... something!"

"Woah, Aziraphale," Anathema's voice grew concerned. She placed gentle hands on his shoulders. "Tell me what happened."

Aziraphale hung his head, motioned toward the computer and told her what he'd done.

  
  


* * *

Adam shot out of the car and went straight to the revolving doors to The Morningstar Press. It was locked.

"Damn!" He couldn't see a sign with their hours of operation and began panicking. He peered through the glass and saw a frazzled-looking man who seemed to be shouting at another nervous young man. Adam knocked with frenzy. They looked at him. The frazzled one made a shooing motion with his hands, then turned back to the other bloke. 

Adam's mother honked. "You're late for school! We can come back after I pick you up!"

The boy knocked again, louder, and yelled. "I'm just gonna keep knocking!!"

The frazzled grump charged to the doors and unlocked it for Adam to go in. He rushed inside and shoved his godfather's manuscript into the guy's gut.

"Ooomph! Hey!"

"Sorry! I have to go to school, but that's for the Crowley guy! It's a book! A romance book," he kept yelling while backing his way out of the building. "My godfather wrote it! It's wicked good! Please give it to Crowley!" 

Had Adam just waited one moment longer, he would have given the manuscript directly into Crowley's hands, because as Adam stepped out, Crowley walked in. 

Both of them completely unaware of the other, separated by a mere pane of glass.

"Dagon," Crowley greeted with a yawn, "please tell me that B extended my deadline or that you found something–"

Dagon practically punched Crowley in the stomach with the heavy manuscript in his hands. "There, prick! A romance. Your favourite toilet to shit on. I'm not your fucking assistant! He is!" They pointed an angry finger at Eric, who cowered instantly.

"Sorry, sir!"

"Ugh! Thank Someone!" Crowley tossed the book to Eric, who quickly followed his boss while fumbling with it. "Skim it. Give me names and a rough plot. No need for details. It's a romance. They're all the same."

The elevators shut behind them with a ding that echoed in the empty lobby of The Morningstar Press.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The circus continues, my friends! Hope you enjoy this chapter because, after this, the pain is a-comin'!
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos so far! They always make my day!
> 
> Thank you, my lovely beta's Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
> 
> edit: Thank you [@freedomattack_therea](https://www.instagram.com/freedomattack_thereal/) on Instagram for the lovely illustration in this chapter!

Crowley could not have chosen a worse person to summarise a book. Unfortunately, he realised this too late and just had to make do with the millennial speak Eric kept spewing out while interpreting what he read. Before Eric was even finished reading, Crowley had already typed half his piece. 

Crowley was too tired to truly be disappointed with himself. He had been truthful about his opinion on romance novels in general. It was all stuff he'd believed for a very long time. The stuff that got him through heartbreak after heartbreak. Beliefs that he burned into his brain so that he would never get hurt again. He relied on his prejudices and negative experiences to write his article quickly without sparing too many brain cells that were trying to keep him alive at the time. Had he been younger, seventy-two straight hours of no sleep would have been a breeze. He could go days at a time without sleeping and catch up on it whenever he was satisfied with his progress. That meant that Crowley would also sleep for days at a time. But he was past his prime and a regular sleep schedule had started to become vital for his body and mind to function.

Did he feel guilty while writing a review for a book he did not read? No. Did he feel guilty when he emailed his article to Hastur? No. Did he feel guilty after he sent his arse home and took a day-long nap? Yes. It finally did hit him then that the one time he did not read a book before critiquing it was going to be printed in less than twenty-four hours. He had never done that before and had already made a list of things he could do to make up for it somehow. But his guilt did not last very long because another feeling took over entirely. Dread.

With Crowley finally well-rested, he was able to rationalise his situation with Angel a bit better. He read over his unsent messages and was completely horrified with everything he had written. Some things were in jest, other things were not. There's always a certain amount of truth to a joke, that is why we laugh in the first place. And Crowley was no stranger to laughing at his own problems in order to make it through the day.

He felt disgusted with himself. He felt scared. He could not understand that after all the progress he had made, he had fallen into the same trappings with someone he didn't even know. That was probably the lowest he'd ever gone, he realised. Falling in love with a stranger, a person he didn't know. Crowley didn't know what he looked like, not a single personal detail about him. And maybe, he thought to himself, since Crowley never met Angel, maybe he was strong enough to fend off those feelings in person, especially if Angel turned out to be a complete tosser. After all, you can create whatever persona you want on the Internet. What if he was being catfished? Part of him hoped he was. He read Angel's message again and saw that there were no new messages from him.

Crowley had never _not_ responded to Angel's messages. And he had also never waited this long to reply to him, whether Angel initiated the next conversation or not. Crowley knew that Angel was an intelligent man, clever, and deliberate with every word he chose to put on screen. He was a perceptive man and probably noticed–most definitely noticed that Crowley was hesitating to respond. It only made Crowley panic more, because he didn’t want Angel to think he was judging him. With great horror, Crowley realised that was probably the first thing Angel would think was happening!

But Crowley also knew he could not just send a message in the state he was in. He'd been through enough therapy to know that at least. So instead of typing at his computer, he did his morning routine, even though it was early afternoon. He took a nice, hot, meditative shower with extra lavender added to his essential oil diffuser, and hung fresh eucalyptus around the showerhead. With years of practice, Crowley forced himself to close his eyes and concentrate on how the water felt on his body, how it tasted on his tongue. His go-to visualisation was of him stretched and lounging on soft, white, puffy clouds–something he would never admit to aloud outside of therapy.

Finally, Crowley went to his study, a massive, near-empty room, and sat on his huge, unnecessary, much-too-elaborate _throne_ before his laptop. Before he even started typing, he did one more self-check, took a deep breath, and wrote his reply. He had timed it perfectly so that he would have to leave his flat to pick up Warlock from school and not stay glued to his computer, refreshing the forum page every two minutes. As soon as he finished his message and hit the blasted send button, Crowley slammed his laptop closed and rushed out of his apartment before he undid all of his progress.

* * *

Anathema had finally been able to calm Aziraphale down, but he was still moping. She had gone through every possible scenario with her boss to lead him away from thinking it was a personal slight or that Aziraphale scared his potential beau off. In between attending customers, she checked on her flustered employer. 

"Right!" Aziraphale burst out of the backroom, seemingly invigorated and determined. "I am prepared to face the day!"

Anathema scoffed. "You mean the afternoon."

Aziraphale's eyes widened as he looked at the time on the wall clock. "Oh, dear." He shook off his brief disappointment. "No matter! I have realised I have overreacted over something so very silly and I am prepared to move forward!" He straightened up and adjusted his bowtie. "I am a grown man with no need for the frivolous melodrama that comes with pining." He shook his head and smiled. "Ridiculous. Pining over some imaginary man I don't even know a thing ab–"

A ping rang out of the backroom.

Anathema watched the blood drain from Aziraphale's face only to see it rush back up again with double the effort. She raised her eyebrows expectantly as her boss' eyes shifted on his nervously smirking, paralysed face. 

Aziraphale finally waved a dismissive hand and chuckled. "Probably someone else mentioning my username. Ha! It can wait. I have things to do! Important things!"

Anathema just stared at him knowingly, not offering a single word.

Clearing his throat a little louder than necessary, Aziraphale began walking backwards slowly. "Yes, important things. Oh! Like, I just recalled I needed to send some emails. Yes." He shrugged nonchalantly, still making his way back into the room to his computer. "Copious amount of emails. Oodles of them. I'll get right to it." He turned around and disappeared within but not before Anathema heard a cacophony of things falling to the floor. "Oopsy-daisy! Sorry! I mean–for Heaven's sake, why am I apologising, you're a piece of furniture."

The witch smiled and rolled her eyes. Finally, her sweet, kind boss would meet the love of his life soon and she couldn't be happier. He so deserved to be happy! The mystery man was the one for Aziraphale, she just knew it–

A loud thud startled Anathema. She looked around to see what it could have been and froze when she came upon a fallen broomstick. "Oh, that's bad luck," she muttered with a frown. She looked from the broom to the front door and saw that the distance between was just a few feet. "Or, maybe someone is coming..." She looked at the broom again and grimaced. "Or both."

* * *

Aziraphale rubbed the angry sting in his knee after he plopped down into his chair. He chastised himself internally for being so soft as he opened the forum window.

> _@angelcrepes75 I'm going to forgive you for the fact that you don't watch television or go to the cinema and that you FELL ASLEEP to one of the most incredible films of our time, for the sake of our friendship._

Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat.

"Friendship..."

He kept reading.

> _We finally agree on something again! That miniseries is the closest thing to the book as it gets. I don't blame you in the least for eyeing Mr Dalton, I mean, who could not fall in love with that perfectly chiselled chin of his even now?! It's too bad the newest adaptation fell short. Fassbender could give a young Dalton a run for his money._
> 
> _-D_

Aziraphale must have read the message a hundred times before he finally deflated in his chair. It did not escape him that the demon did not reciprocate by divulging anything near what Aziraphale had. Anyone can appreciate the way someone looks, and the way the demon had phrased everything, that's all it seemed to be. He could understand the handsome features of the man, but there was no real indication that he found him attractive. 

Oh, well, Aziraphale thought, at least he still had his friend. That was more important to him in any case. Aziraphale thought about what to respond with but found he didn't really have the heart to write anything at the moment. He derided himself again for his stupid, romantic notions. What exactly was he expecting? It's not like he was a character of some romance novel. For once, Aziraphale found himself wondering if the demon had been right all along about fairytales and love stories being nothing but fuel to a dangerous fire.

Aziraphale's head lolled lazily in the direction of a certain cabinet that housed his best whiskey. "Chin up, old chap," he muttered, "alcohol is not a forgiving lover in the midst of disappointment." He sighed long and hard before finally peeling himself off his chair and joining Anathema in the shop.

Aziraphale stopped frozen at the sight of his employee sweeping absolutely nothing out the front door with ferocious speed, hissing to herself.

"No bad juju right now! I forbid it! Aziraphale is going to get laid, and you will _not_ get in the way! Bad luck be gone! Or I swear I will hunt the fates down myself and start an epic smackdown session!"

"Americans," Aziraphale mumbled under his breath, utterly unperturbed by her behaviour. Whiskey may not have been a good idea, but tea, unquestionably, was in order.

* * *

Crowley felt like utter shit. He was proud of himself for reigning in his crazy, but also sad about basically turning Angel down. Maybe Angel would still be his friend. Angel deserved someone better anyway.

Warlock got in the car and immediately began playing on his mobile. Crowley put his car into gear and tried to get his mind off the lost opportunity. "How was your first day? Make any friends?"

Warlock shrugged. 

"I don't speak teenager anymore so you'll have to elaborate."

It at least put a smirk on his nephew's face. "There were a few kids who were pretty cool. Invited me to sit with them at lunch."

"Oh yeah?" Crowley was legitimately surprised. Warlock was not the most sociable kid. "Who were they?"

"The Them."

"The what?" Crowley glanced at Warlock with a quirk of his brow over his sunnies.

"They call themselves the Them."

Crowley looked from his nephew to the road, bewildered. "Yeah? Does ‘who’ play first, and ‘what’ play second?" He sniggered at his own joke, which died off when Warlock looked at him like he had two heads. "Right. Wanna talk about the Them or the teachers, or homework?"

Warlock shrugged again but stayed silent.

"Cool-cool," Crowley nodded like the smooth uncle he was.

They arrived at Warlock's house when the boy barely looked up from his phone and said, "Oh, I need you to take me to a bookstore."

"What?"

"I need books for class."

Crowley suppressed his urge to groan. "And you didn't think to tell me that when I asked you about school, you know _before_ I parked in front of your house?"

The teenager shrugged again.

The smooth and totally patient uncle clenched his teeth in a scary smile. "Right then." He looked up the closest bookshop on his mobile and went on his way.

* * *

  
Adam was still on a natural high from his earlier adventure when he ran into the shop. He wanted to spill the beans so badly but knew it would be best if his godfather saw the article himself when it came out. His demeanour did not go unnoticed, however.

"Well, at least someone is in a good mood," Aziraphale smiled up from the till. "Good day at school, I imagine?"

"Uh, yeah!" Adam tried to think of something that would pass as the truth. "Oh! Yeah, there's a new kid. Has a wicked name and seems pretty cool. I think me and the gang made a good impression."

Aziraphale's eyes crinkled with genuine mirth. "I'm glad you've made a new friend. What's their name?"

"His name is–"

The door opened with a tinkling of a bell. "Warlock, for someone's sake, isn't there anyone you can–" Crowley accidentally knocked over a broom and nearly sent himself flying face-first into the ground. The broom clattered to the floor loudly, but he was able to catch himself with the help of the store clerk who rushed to his side. "Oi, that shouldn't be there, I nearly...!" Crowley's mouth clamped shut as soon as his covered eyes landed on a lovely pair of hazel ones.

"Oh, dear, I do apologise about that. You're absolutely right, very sorry. Anathema, dear, please put your flying contraption away before someone injures themselves.”

"My flying what?" Anathema came out from behind a shelf, and her jaw dropped open at the sight of the broom on the floor. "Oh, no." She ran over to it and picked it up. "Ha. Very funny Aziraphale, haha." She didn't sound amused at all. In fact, she was looking at the tall man in black with fearful eyes. "Sorry, sir."

"Eh," Crowley said, still thrown off completely, "no problem. No harm done." He looked down at his arm, where - what was his name, Aziraphale? - was still holding him. 

"Are you quite all right, sir...?"

Crowley opened his mouth to give him his usual introduction, but Warlock entered the shop and pushed between them to get past. "Very smooth, uncle A.J."

"Warlock?!" Adam waved enthusiastically.

It was the first time Crowley ever saw his nephew blush. _Interesting._

"Oh, hi, Adam. Um, where are the rest of the gang?"

"Not here. I'm helping my godfather with the shop for points. I guess you're here for the assigned reading stuff? I can help you find everything if you like."

Warlock's ears began to glow. "Cool. Yeah. Okay."

The boys weaved their way further back into the shop and disappeared. A whistle emanated from somewhere, which made the store clerk jump slightly. "Ah, yes, I made tea. Mr--, erm, A.J., was it?"

Crowley nodded dumbly, still very aware of the warmth of the man's touch through his coat sleeve.

"You look a bit shaken, how about we sit you down over here," Aziraphale led Crowley to a comfortable armchair, "and I'll make you a cuppa. How do you take it?"

"Erm, however you like it is fine," Crowley mumbled. He nearly looked away from the beaming smile given to him. The man practically glowed with kindness and good nature. His white, curly hair only accentuating his gentle demeanour.

"All right. Back in a mo, dear fellow. You'll feel tickety-boo in no time!" He bustled his way into a room toward the back.

"Tickety-boo...?" Crowley shook off his confusion. What the hell had happened? He'd been fine. Everything was fine. Crowley knew precisely what happened, and it had nothing to do with the broom. "No-no-no," Crowley muttered. "Not happening. Don't think about it."

But he did think about it. He couldn't help but think about the adorable, old-fashioned-looking store clerk. How he had been so concerned for his well being, how he had smiled with that little twinkle in his eyes that seemed to change colour, or how much his hair looked like a fluffy white cloud. Soft. He seemed so damned soft. All of him. Crowley liked soft.

"You pathetic wanker," Crowley hissed at himself. "You can't fall for everyone who is _nice_ to you." But his brain was already working on overdrive. He had just run from Angel in hopes of never ruining the online friendship, the _only_ friendship he's had in a long time. Not that Crowley liked generalisations, but he was picking up some gay vibes right off the bat from the clerk. The bloke seemed kind enough. Attractive in an old St Nicholas kind-of-way. Very nice eyes. Plump arse... "Fuck's sake." He needed a lay. Maybe that's all it was. The whole Angel business had riled him up in the worst way, and he just needed to forget it, have a quick fuck maybe, and move on. 

His train of thought halted when he caught bookshop-girl drilling holes into his skull with narrowed eyes. Crowley was about to snap at her when the jolly store clerk bustled into view with two cups of tea. He set Crowley's cup in his hands and then sat on an ottoman in front of him.

"There we are," Aziraphale wiggled in his chair, which nearly made Crowley's teeth fall out. "Feeling better, I hope?" He sipped his tea and eyed Crowley over the rim of his cup.

"Uh, yeah, thanks." _Act cool. You're A.J. Crowley. Smooth, successful... oh, look, no wedding ring, that's good._ "Weird name," he blurted out and thanked the stars his glasses were on because he was pretty sure his face looked just like he felt, stupid.

"Excuse me?" Aziraphale chuckled. The handsome man before him was amusingly flustered, and it made him feel confident. Usually, Aziraphale was the flustered one. He wondered if, by some miracle, the man found him attractive. He'd seen stranger things, but without being able to see his eyes, Aziraphale didn't want to assume. "My name? Weird? I've never heard that before," he replied with an arch of his brow.

A.J.'s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink, and Aziraphale could tell he was trying to smother a smile. _Maybe he has a thing for older men,_ he thought hopefully. The demon was a friend, an anonymous friend at that, and Aziraphale needed to move on. He couldn't see any reason not to try his luck with the flash ginger, even if it were just for a night. Aziraphale was sure this man could take his mind off his woes for a bit. _To flirt or not to flirt, that is the question._ He usually had a pretty good gay-dar as Anathema liked to call it, but the man was a bit of a mystery to him, which only intrigued him more. Aziraphale let his eyes drop to A.J.'s hands and was delighted to see he was not spoken for.

 _To flirt then,_ Aziraphale decided. _Just a little to see where it lands._ "It's not as bad as my middle name," he ventured.

Crowley looked up and couldn't fight the smirk any longer. "Oh, yeah? To be fair, though, most middle names are godawful. I know mine is."

"I can't imagine it's worse than mine. You'd probably laugh."

"I would _not_. Let's wager then," Crowley let out without thinking.

Aziraphale let himself be a bit more obvious by allowing his eyes to travel down and back up, taking in the tight trousers and thin frame of the delicious creature in front of him. "What would you like to wager?" He said low and grave.

Crowley squirmed in his seat. Aziraphale was flirting. But he couldn't trust himself and needed to be sure. He decided he had nothing to lose and went for the obvious. "If I win, I buy you a drink."

Aziraphale's eyes widened with surprise. He didn't think A.J. would be that forward so quickly. Plus, he was quite sure the man could do better than a frumpy bookshop owner. "And if I win?" Aziraphale retorted with a business-like tone.

Crowley let himself grin wide and freely. "I buy you a drink."

Biting down on his lip did nothing to hide Aziraphale's pleasure. "You're on then." 

"Who goes first?"

"Hmm," Aziraphale brought a finger to his lips in deep thought and swept the tip of his tongue over it. He was thrilled to see Crowley suck in a breath and purse his lips. Aziraphale could be such a tart sometimes, but he couldn't help himself. He was having fun, and the fact the man was so lovely to look at did wonders for his self-esteem. "I'll go." He straightened himself on his seat, leaned forward as if to tell A.J. a secret and said, "Not many know my shameful moniker, so no telling."

Crowley smiled again, and mirrored Aziraphale's posture, bringing him quite close to the man's face. "Cross my heart, _Aziraphale.”_

 _Oh, bugger that was sexy._ Aziraphale cleared his throat and moved in closer. "Zebadiah." A.J.'s smile disappeared and morphed into genuine shock.

"You're shitting me."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. "Am not. At least you're not laughing..." No, A.J. was not laughing. He looked stricken. "Is there something wrong?" 

Crowley lifted his arse, pulled out his wallet, and ripped his identification out, handing it to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale snorted–wished he hadn't but, oh well–and took the piece of plastic. His eyes landed on the picture first. A.J. was even more handsome without his glasses, with the most striking amber eyes that made Aziraphale's heart patter a bit quicker. Then he looked at the birthday and was pleasantly surprised to find that A.J. was only a year younger than him. Then he looked at the name and read it aloud before it registered in his own mind. "Anthony _Jebadiah..._ Crow...ley."

Crowley laughed at Aziraphale's shocked face. "That's wild, isn't it?! The same name save for one letter!"

Aziraphale wondered if the ground was going to crack open beneath him. There, in his shop, sitting in his chair, sipping his bloody caramel white tea, _flirting_ with him, was the dreaded book critic, A.J. Crowley. "Oh, dear, look at that," he muttered through a nervous chuckle. "What a... coincidence."

"Right?" Crowley laughed openly and sat back with all the confidence in the world. Things were turning out really well, he thought. "So, do I win?" he asked with a bit of cheek.

"Hm?" Aziraphale looked up from the I.D. and saw the merciless, snake of a critic sporting a smug grin. "Oh! Ha.Yes. Right. J is far worse than Z so..." he swallowed again and saw Crowley's smile slowly fall.

"Shit," Crowley breathed. He took his I.D. back and rolled his eyes. "You know who I am. Of course, you do, you work in a bookshop." Cold disappointment began to climb up his spine. This man either loved his work or hated it. There was usually no in between, and by the look of it, Crowley, Aziraphale was in the latter category of people.

"Own," Aziraphale corrected. "I own this bookshop." He was torn. Things had been going so well, he had liked A.J. pretty much immediately. But A.J. Crowley was such an awful person! Or at least, he had thought so based on his writing. Could it have been that Crowley wasn't so bad? Aziraphale had a hard time accepting that to be true.

"Right," Crowley said in his usual cold and unaffected tone. "I'll get out of your hair as soon as my nephew gets his school books." Crowley stood up and headed toward where Warlock had gone before Aziraphale shot from his seat with an angry hiss and grabbed him by his sleeve. He almost snarled at Aziraphale but caught his pained expression in time.

"So, sorry," Aziraphale gritted through his teeth, trying to catch his balance, "old knee injury. Sorry." He let Crowley go and his knee gave way again.

Crowley caught Aziraphale and steadied him, holding both his hands. "It's fine," he panted, feeling heat climb up his neck. "Here, sit down." He helped Aziraphale to the chair he had occupied, pushed the ottoman closer, and helped Aziraphale rest his leg onto it.

"Oh, you don't have to - oh, well. Erm. Thank you." Aziraphale caught his breath that he wasn't sure was caused by the jolt from his knee. 

"You alright?"

Crowley seemed genuinely concerned, and he had been so polite and easy-going. "That was very kind of you."

Crowley smirked. " _Shut it_. You could ruin my reputation."

A blush crept into Aziraphale's cheeks, and he smiled. He could not judge the man without knowing him so, "You did win our little wager. A drink sounds lovely, that is, if you're still up for it?"

Crowley's eyebrows shot over the rim of glasses. "Ngh-yeah, yes. Um, how about tomorrow, after you close up? We go to print tomorrow so I'll be pretty free for a bit if that doesn't work for you–"

"Yes. Tomorrow is perfect."

The corners of Crowley's lips turned up without his permission. "Perfect."

"Uncle A.J.?" Warlock called.

Crowley stood up quickly. "Ready to go?" 

"Yeah, I already paid and everything."

"What?! Why would you do that, I was gonna pay," Crowley admonished.

"You did," Warlock replied simply, then flashed Crowley's credit card.

"You little hellspawn," Crowley grated and snatched the card from his nephew's hands.

Aziraphale laughed, which made Crowley whip around with a surprised grin. He watched his handsome face blush again. "Teenagers are quite something." Aziraphale caught Adam rushing past in a blur, but he didn't give it a second thought.

They bid each other farewell and reconfirmed their date for the next evening. Then, Anthony J. Crowley walked out of his bookshop, leaving Aziraphale wholly bewildered.

Crowley sauntered out the door, hoping Aziraphale was looking at his arse when he was abruptly yanked aside by the boy from the shop. Warlock rounded on him too.

"What the Hhhh-eaven? Is this a shake down?"

"Uncle A.J., this is Adam, my... erm, my new friend." Warlock thumbed behind him to the nervous-looking kid. "That guy in there is his godfather," he explained.

"Oh," Crowley frowned, immediately thinking it probably wasn't a good idea to sleep with his nephew's friend's godfather. But they were both adults! Right? He'd have to check with Aziraphale and make sure they were on the same page on their date. Was it a date?

"Anyway," Warlock continued, "his godfather wrote a book."

"Aziraphale?" Crowley glanced at Adam, who nodded quickly. "I see." So, maybe Aziraphale had ulterior motives, and that's why he agreed to the date. _Damn._ His heart plummeted. But what did that matter? He was just after a short-term thing. It's not like he hadn't pulled favours for people he'd slept with before. Crowley had just hoped Aziraphale was different. "All right, well, I'm seeing him tomorrow so he can give it to me then," he said as casually as he could muster.

"No," Warlock waved his hands and rolled his eyes. "The bloke never wanted you to read it. Adam is the one who wants you to read it without letting the old man know. As a surprise."

"He's not that old," Crowley grumbled, defending his own age in the process. That news was much better and gave Crowley some hope he didn't know he wanted. Plus, Warlock was giving him the _please do this for me, or I'll kill you_ look _._ "Yeah, kid, I can do that. I can even send it to some contacts, so he has a decent shot." That would also gain him some brownie points, he thought with pride. He was going to help Aziraphale. It felt good. "Come on then, hand it over." He stuck out his hand expectantly.

"Uh," Adam squeaked. "I, uh, I–"

Warlock helped his new friend. "He dropped it off this morning at the Press."

"Oh, okay then I'll–" Crowley's lungs collapsed as an absurd thought crossed his mind. "Kid..." Crowley never knew his soul could quake. You learn something new every day. "Was it, by any chance, any chance at all... a... a romance novel?"

"Yes!" Adam said excitedly. "You got it then?! Great! Thank yo..."

Crowley no longer heard a word over the thundering in his ears. He was going to be sick. Somehow, he managed a smile and nodded. The kid ran back inside after giving Warlock a quick, grateful embrace, which left Warlock as stunned as his uncle, except, Warlock's smile was real. 

"Warlock," Crowley let out hoarsely, "get in the bleedin' car right now." A.J. Crowley never runs. Especially at this stage of his life, but his legs had other plans. 

Anthony J. Crowley ran like his life depended on it. 

The goal? 

Stop the presses.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More build up for the epic shit-storm approaching! :D
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for all the hard beta work and Brit-picking!

"Shit!" Crowley slammed his hand on the wheel repeatedly. "Shit-shit-shit! Why me?! Why  _ me?  _ What are the fucking odds?! I mean-I mean c'mon! COME ON! Hey Siri! Call B!" Another dead stop in traffic. The M25 was deadlocked as usual at rush hour.

"Calling B, Prince of Hell, if it existed." That was the first time he didn't laugh at his stupid contact name for his boss.

"We're sorry. Your mobile service connection is temporarily out of service–"

"GAAAAAAARGH!"

It was as if the forces of Heaven and Hell were making sure that Crowley never got to the office. But Crowley was an atheist, so he gave a figurative god and devil the finger while speeding and weaving around cars. 

Warlock hadn't said a word, and frankly, Crowley had forgotten he was there. "What did you do, uncle A.J.?" he asked softly.

Crowley whipped his head to Warlock and caught the fear in his nephew's eyes. "Nothing. Don't worry about it. It's a work thing."

Warlock continued eyeing his uncle. "You can tell me. You're acting like a nutter on drugs, so it has to be bad."

"I'm gonna fix it. Just got to get to the office. I'm gonna fix it, and everything will be fine. Yep-uh! All fine."

"Uncle A.J...?"

"Yeah? What is it-what is it?"

"Does this have anything to do with Adam's godfather and his book?" He asked cautiously. Warlock saw his uncles Adam's apple bob while his frown deepened. He understood now. Warlock understood precisely what happened. "You read it already, and you gave him a bad review, and it's going to be in the paper for everyone to see including him." He had said it all without any emotion whatsoever.

Crowley hung his head and then sniffed loudly. Eyes back on the road, he began to shake off the dread. He could not give in to an anxiety attack. Would not! "I'm gonna fix it, Warlock. I am."

"I can't believe this," Warlock breathed. "How bad is it?" He groused. One look at his uncle and his heaving chest said it all. "You've ruined my life."

"Aw, c'mon now, I haven't–"

"The only cool kid in school who gave a shit about the new weirdo is going to hate me!"

Crowley snapped his head between traffic and his seething nephew. When he saw a tear roll down a pink cheek, Crowley stepped on the gas. "Don't cry–"

"I'M NOT CRYING!" Warlock sobbed. "I'm angry! Why do you have to be so mean? You're worse than the bullies at my old school! Why are you like this?!"

Crowley's universe was falling apart. He felt as if he were freefalling into the pits of Hell. "I don't know, kid. I don't know."

* * *

Back at the bookshop, Aziraphale closed up while humming a tune he'd never heard before. He was still torn about the critic, but it felt good to be wanted. A.J. Crowley of all people, flirting with him? He wouldn't have believed it had it not just happened.

"So," Anathema said slowly, "let me get this straight. Johnny Cash-wannabe was A.J. Crowley."

"The man in black?"

"... Yeah."

"Oh, yes. That was him," Aziraphale admitted.

"And he asked you out? On a date?"

"For drinks. There's a difference. Trust me." Aziraphale locked up the front door and looked around his shop with a smile that had started hurting his cheeks.

"The guy you hate asked you out for drinks, and you said yes."

"Correct–I mean, no! I never said I hated him!" Aziraphale exclaimed defensively.

"I can't even count how many names you've called him. Let's see." Anathema raised her hand and began to count her fingers. "Brute, snake, foul fiend, devil–"

"All right, all right. You've made your point." Aziraphale glared at her and began cashing out. "I didn't know it was him and he seemed so kind. Handsome too," he muttered at the end. "I still can't make heads or tails of it, but it seems he may be playing a specific role at the Press. The news outlets do so love mayhem. It's the only thing that makes sense to merge the two Crowleys I have in my head now." 

"So, he's forced to be an asshole? And that's okay?" Anathema raised her arms up and shrugged. 

"No, my dear," Aziraphale said. "It does not make it okay in the least, but maybe," Aziraphale sighed, "maybe it's not too late for him to be a better version of himself."

"Aziraphale," said the witch with a shake of her head, "I have a real bad feeling about this. It feels like a storm is coming and it's because of that guy, I just know it." Anathema worried at her lip before speaking again. "What happened with the demon?"

Aziraphale froze mid-count and tried for a polite smile. "Nothing. They replied, and it seems like nothing has changed. I overreacted." He chuckled mirthlessly and started his count again.

* * *

Warlock waited in the car while Crowley bolted through the building. He slithered his way between cubicles until he reached B's office. He charged into her office heaving and gasping. 

"What the fuck?" B cried with outrage. The small woman glared at her subordinate.

Crowley doubled over and held up one finger while he caught his breath. "Sto-" he coughed. Stop the–" he hacked away again. "Stop the fucking presses!" He finally let out on a high-pitched wheeze.

"Excuse me?"

"B," Crowley dropped in a chair and put his hands together in prayer, "please stop the presses, I need to change the article, swap it for another one–"

"Oh, you've gone mad. I finally pushed you over the edge. Took longer than I thought."

"No-no. Listen. I'm serious. I have another article I can swap it with. Just this once, B, please. I'll do anything! I'll fucking live here, day-in and day-out. I'll bring you coffee, and chocolates, whatever you want! Just  _ please?! _ "

B saw the real distress even with his sunglasses on. "Okay."

Crowley's mouth dropped open. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Really? You're not just having a laugh? You'll do it?"

"Of course I will." B eyed Crowley with pity. "Something horrible must have happened. You don't need to tell me right now, but I will need that explanation." She picked up the phone. "Yeah, hi, I'm gonna need you to–" she slammed the phone and loomed over her desk. "–fuck right off, Crowley!"

Crowley groaned and melted out of the chair and onto the floor.

"It's too late, anyway. They started fifteen minutes ago. Now get the Hell out of my office and go home."

"Okay," Crowley squeaked from the ground where he laid like a dying man. "I'm gonna need some time off."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"Oh, I dunno," Crowley peeled himself off the floor and swayed in place. "They say Alpha Centauri is nice this time a year," he murmured while dragging his feet toward the exit.

* * *

  
  


Warlock didn't even look at him when he got in the car. Crowley opened his mouth to say something but found he had no words.

"Don't say anything," Warlock muttered. "If it's not good news, then don't. Say. Anything. I want to go home. Now."

Crowley just nodded and drove Warlock home in complete silence. Warlock didn't even wait until Crowley was fully parked before he opened the door and dashed out. Like a man wholly and utterly defeated, because that is exactly what he was, Crowley drove himself home and decided to sleep for a century.

Crowley slept for exactly twenty minutes before he jerked awake with his heart trying to hammer out of his chest. "Oh, fuuuuuck, what am I gonna do? What am I going to do?" He knew he had to own up to it. He had to tell Aziraphale what to expect, apologise and then hope he never bumped into him again. Crowley went to his study, pulled out a piece of paper and pen and began to write a list. 

  * _Tell Aziraphale, in person, that you are a massive arsehole._
  * _Then call every agent and tell them that you are a massive arsehole._
  * _Get Aziraphale published because you are a massive arsehole._



Crowley looked over his list and nodded, satisfied. He dropped onto his throne and groaned from the deepest pit of his black soul. 

Then, a  _ ping _ sounded off.

Crowley looked at the computer screen and felt a new wave of guilt. He'd snubbed Angel and Angel probably noticed. He scrolled until he reached the new message.

> _ @demoneyes666 I wholly agree with you on that at least. _

That was it. That was the whole message.  _ Yep. He noticed. _ If Crowley didn't write something fast, he'd probably push Angel away too. And then he'd truly be alone.

Crowley clicked on his username and selected the direct message option.  _ Hey, angel, are you still on? _

"Please, please, please," he whispered.

* * *

Right as Aziraphle was about to sign out, he received a direct message notification. Curiosity got the better of him so checked instead of just logging off. He gasped.

"Oh!" Aziraphale exclaimed in shock. "The demon has made contact." The demon had never, not once, sent Aziraphale a direct message.

> _ Angel, I really need a friend right now, and you're the closest thing I got to one.  _
> 
> Nevermind...

Aziraphale furrowed his brow with concern. He typed back quickly.  _ I'm still on. Everything all right? This is unprecedented, but I'm glad you consider me a friend and that you reached out. _

* * *

Crowley gasped. Angel had replied. He read the message, and before he could start typing, another message popped on the screen.

> _ I consider you a friend as well. _

Crowley thought he would cry.  _ Thanks. It means a lot. _

> _ What happened? Can I help in any way?  _

_ No, no. Just listening is more than I can ask for. So, something bad happened at work today, and it was my fault. I don't want to get into specifics. I'm too ashamed. But I just needed to tell someone who would believe me that I didn't mean for it to happen and that I'm sorry. _

> _ Must have been quite awful. I won't pry, but did you try to right the wrong? _

_ Yeah, but it didn't work out. _

> _ It seems to me you are contrite and that you did your best to correct your mistake. That's all you can do. Time will put this behind you soon enough. And hopefully, you'll be forgiven. _

Crowley scoffed. "I'll never be forgiven. Unforgivable, that's what I am." He did not write that. Instead, he wrote.  _ Yeah, hopefully. Thank you for listening. Just one more thing... _

> _ Yes? _

* * *

Aziraphale nearly fell out of his chair. 

> _ Would you like to meet? _

He must have taken too long to reply because the demon began apologising. He typed away a response as fast as he could.  _ I have thought about asking you the same, actually. _

> _ Yeah? _

_ Yes. I'm afraid I'll embarrass myself, however. Who knows what you think I'm like in person. _

> _ Kind. _

Aziraphale had been thrown off by that. His heart did a backflip, and his mind grew foggy with warmth.  _ That's very nice of you to think so. _

> _ So, is that a yes? Want to meet? Maybe have lunch? _

Aziraphale began to get excited about the prospect. He knew the demon was in London and his mind went a kilometer a minute, trying to figure out how to ask more personal questions. The demon wanted to meet. That should have been enough permission to at least ask what they looked like.  _ Temptation accomplished! Food will always convince me to do just about anything. _

> _ Haha! Good to know! Okay, well you know I'm based in London. Any chance you'll be visiting? I mean, I can always come to you, or maybe we can meet in the middle somewhere? _

_ I'm also in London. _

> _ Really?! That's convenient! :) _

_ Yes, it is quite fortuitous. When and where would you like to meet? Please choose, because I am quite indecisive when it comes to such things. _

> _ Oh, I know just the place. How about the Ritz? _

Aziraphale was floored. "The Ritz?!" Was the demon joking?  _ Jolly good choice, I imagine, though I've never dined there because it's nearly impossible to get a reservation, not to mention the price! Should I bring some gold bars while we're at it? _

> _ You're in luck because you have a friend with connections. Reserving a table won't be a problem, and the meal will be on me, of course. _

Frozen in place, Aziraphale blinked at the screen, trying to process the incredible information. Not only did the demon have connections, but they must be well off. Aziraphale wanted to say yes, a million times yes.  _ Oh, no I couldn't possibly allow that. That's too much. _

> _ Please? _

Aziraphale shrugged. "Ah, well, I tried."  _ You should know I'll be an expensive date. _ He had sent the message too soon and began to die slowly of mortification. He typed out some apology and excuse because to make matters worse, the demon had not replied. Just as he was about to send his hurried apology, Aziraphale saw evidence that the demon was typing. He waited with bated breath. 

> _ I don't doubt it, angel...  _

Someone must have turned on the furnace because Aziraphale had to rip off his jumper before dying of heatstroke. He panted a bit, not knowing how to take the message or what to send back. The demon took upon themselves to save him from having to wonder too long.

> _ At least my wallet will make up for not being as handsome as Mr Dalton. ;) _

Letting out a long, high-pitched gasp, Aziraphale pushed himself away from his desk, crashing right into a table with a tower of books that tumbled down on his head. He didn't even notice. Quickly, Aziraphale rolled himself back to his computer in the fashion of a dog scooting its arse on a carpet. Usually, Aziraphale thought himself an intelligent man, more intelligent than most if he were honest, but his brain fired off in every which way at once, and he could not think of one blasted thing to say to that. "They're a  _ He _ . And  _ He _ is  _ flirting _ . What do I do? Flirt back, you idiot."  _ I do have standards, but conventional beauty is not one of them. I'm not the best-looking fellow either, nor do I have a wallet to make me appear more appealing, so don't get your hopes up too much. _

> _ Well, you're already beautiful to me. _

There was a shrill squeak, and Aziraphale realised it came from his own mouth. He cleared his throat nervously like he had been heard. "Oh, my goodness. Oh, dear. Aziraphale, you are in for a world of trouble, you are. Good lord." 

> _ Sorry if I overstepped. I don't usually do this online, so if I misunderstood... _

Before Aziraphale knew it, he had sent his message. _No! Not at all. I mean, yes, you understood perfectly well. I mean, I've wondered for some time, if you, well, if you might consider it an option. A date, that is. Or not a date, whatever you like. We can just see how it goes._ _And now I'm rambling. Going to stop now._

* * *

Crowley smiled from ear to ear and felt his cheeks burning. "You're goddamn adorable, angel." _ We'll see how it goes. If you like what you see and the baggage that comes with–free of charge by the way–then you can take me out next time.  _

> _ Sounds like a lovely plan. And who doesn't have baggage? As long as you're not married.  _

_ NO! I'm a sorry bachelor.  _

> _ Just checking. ;) Oh, and I'm not either. Married that is.  _

_ Good to hear. All right, I think I can get us in next week. I don't know if I'll be good company as I have some collateral damage to take care of. Hopefully, by the time we meet, I'll have it all handled.  _

> _ I do hope so, for your sake and peace of mind. How about we not divulge anything further about ourselves until then. We'll have more to talk about, and I think it would be nice to be surprised.  _

Crowley scoffed with fondness.  _ Ah, yes, you're the romantic type. I could never laugh at you, even for that. Let me guess... you're also going to have a flower in a book so I can recognise you? _

> _ I thought you said you wouldn't laugh. _

Crowley grinned and shook his head.  _ I'm not! Okay, maybe just a little, but I love the idea, angel. I'll do one better. I'll pin a rose to my own coat, even at the risk of looking like a sap. How's next Tuesday at 8 pm? _

> _ So skipping right to a dinner date, are we? _

_ I'm trying my hand at optimism, what can I say? _

> _ 8 pm then. I'm really looking forward to meeting you. _

_ Me too, angel.  _ Crowley sighed and buried his face in his hands. "You've no idea how much." Crowley was so anxious. He reread their interaction many times, wondering when he'd grown a pair, until exhaustion overcame him. 

It's too bad that poor, tired, emotionally battered Crowley forgot to charge his phone that night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wrists are MUCH better now, holy shit. I am taking extra good care of them from now on because that was an awful three days of not being able to write or draw! 
> 
> Thank you my beta "minions" (lol!), your "Lord" is pleased. XD I love you guys, Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
> 
> INCOMING DRAMA! 
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of PTSD.

Aziraphale had always been an early riser. But when he awoke, it was much earlier than usual. It didn't matter though, because he did not feel tired. Not in the least. In one day, two men had propositioned him! Not just any two men either. The demon and Anthony J. Crowley! Was being a frumpy bookseller the new rage?! He was chuffed to bits about the whole thing. True, the demon didn't know what Aziraphale looked like and might run off when he finally saw him, but A.J. Crowley was a very handsome man, and he asked Aziraphale out for drinks, not the other way around. So, yes, Aziraphale's day started really well, with a skip in his step and music in his heart.

He was happy. Not to say that Aziraphale had not been happy. Aziraphale had just been content. If his life continued on as is, he would not have been disappointed. His life had turned out pretty well considering, well, everything. Going to war is no picnic, after all. Neither is being permanently injured in said war. Yes, Things could have turned out far worse indeed.

When Aziraphale had been in his prime, it was easy to nab a gentleman from time to time. With a soldier's body, wit, and an innocent look to his pretty-boy face, discreet rendezvous, even when in active service, had been quite easy. Longterm, committed relationships had always been the issue. It just seemed like no one in his younger days wanted to settle down, preferring to just "have fun" with whomever they fancied. When he was finally at an age to find a keeper, well, it felt like it had been too late for him.

Readjusting to civilian life was hard enough. Throw in an injury and PTSD, and he had a nice cocktail for many failures when it came to relationships. He tried going to those clubs to meet people, but most of the time he found nothing in common with any of them. One night stands were nice for a while, but that grew tiresome as well. 

Aziraphale began meeting people more like him at functions he felt more comfortable with, but he was hardly ever comfortable in public settings unless he was too busy eating and drinking to notice how  _ uncomfortable _ he was. 

Plus, Aziraphale had standards! Extremely picky, though he never thought so. The most mundane thing about a man could drive him up the wall, so his ideal partner would have to deal with his nagging about his pet-peeves. Aziraphale loved food and drink, so his partner would need to just zip it if they ever thought he should cut back–he knew his own limits, damn it all! It's not like he was unhealthy either. If one more man told him to try going to a gym, Aziraphale would probably lose the plot and show them a thing or two. He was a boring, snobby, chatty, hedonistic queen, and that's how he was going to stay.

If nobody liked that, then Aziraphale would be content with the simple life he'd made for himself. And that was fine, just fine. A good night for Aziraphale was staying in with a good glass of red, a good book surrounded by cookie-dough scented candles.

Luck, however, finally seemed like it was paying Aziraphale a visit. It appeared to him that the demon had the potential to meet all of his standards, and so he was very excited to meet him. Aziraphale did feel a little guilty that he would be going on a date with Crowley that very day. But he was not spoken for, and he should weigh all his options. Aziraphale was loathed to admit that Crowley had the potential to meet his high standards as well. He had researched Crowley, and the man's achievements were quite impressive. He was a learned man, obviously, had a humble background and made himself one of the most famous book critics in the country. And even though the critic was a massive arsehole in his critiques, his writing was always impeccable. Aziraphale often chided himself for laughing out loud while reading some of his pieces.

Crowley had seemed to enjoy the way Aziraphale looked and acted. It didn't seem to bother the man at all that Aziraphale was a tad overweight and flabby or that he looked a little bit older than his actual age. The man was the complete opposite of Aziraphale, and yet he found him attractive enough to ask him out for drinks. Surely, Crowley could have whomever he wanted, and he didn't seem like the type to just go after conquests. 

The one thing that terrified Aziraphale about Crowley was the fact that Aziraphale had written a novel, and the man had the power to make or break his non-existent career as a novelist. Aziraphale didn't know exactly what to do with that. He was very tempted to try and bring it up later. And he assumed it would be brought up in conversation anyway. But then, would the man think he only accepted to go out with him because he might get a favour out of it? That was not Aziraphale's style. What if Crowley decided he wanted to read his book? He couldn't give him a flat out no, could he?

Even scarier was the thought that the date would actually turn out well. What if they went on another date? And what about the demon then? He supposed he would have to meet the demon first in order to figure things out. So Aziraphale decided to just enjoy the day and try not to worry about all of those questions that were secretly driving him mad. 

And so, Aziraphale started his morning routine. First, shower and brush his teeth. Make the bed. Start the kettle and go pick up the paper. Catch up on current events while sipping his tea and eating his omelette, and then get on the forum and tease the demon. First thing was first. 

A shower.

* * *

Adam practically woke up at the crack of dawn. His sleep was fitful, and he felt like poo. He was both dreading and excited about Crowley reading his godfather's book. He wondered when it would come out in the paper. Adam imagined it would take a couple of weeks at least. But maybe because Adam and Warlock were friends, Crowley might have decided to bump it up! And that would be incredible news! Because Adam had no idea how much longer he could keep quiet, the secret would eat him alive!

The alarm went off as it usually did, followed by the quick tap-tap on his door from his mother. This time Adam did not jump right out of bed. He continued to laze about until his mother huffed and knocked twice more. 

Adam arrived at the breakfast table to severe parents sitting with a newspaper in front of them. Deidre was hunched over Arthur's shoulder who was muttering under his breath with a deep frown while reading. Deidre then gasped and covered her mouth.

Adam thought he heard alarm bells ringing in his head. "What's the matter?"

Both his mother and father acted surprised to see him.

"Oh, nothing-nothing," Deidre said, first. 

The way she had said it made Adam cold with dread. He walked to the table slowly, his mother eyeing him cautiously and apologetically. "Did Crowley write about uncle's book?” Adam didn't even feel like he had spoken aloud. 

His father sighed and nodded solemnly. "Don't listen to what that man has to say, Adam. There are men like him all over the world, and one day you'll have to deal with a few–if you're lucky." Arthur got up, patted his son reassuringly on the shoulder, collected his things, and went to work.

Adam stood rooted in place. "Can I read it?"

Diedre grimaced and shook her head. "Best not, sweetheart. I know you were very excited. You shouldn't have to read something so awful about someone you love. But after school, we will go straight to the shop and make sure your godfather is okay. Give him some moral support! Okay?" She smiled and nodded, then threw the article in the rubbish.

Paralyzed, Adam could not understand what had happened. The book was so good, great, amazing! Even Anathema who had read it said it was brilliant, and she was an adult! And a very smart woman who's read lots and lots of books. So she should know.

"Eat your breakfast, and then we'll go to school. I'll make sure to call your godfather." As soon as Deidre left the kitchen, Adam raced to the bin and pulled out the article. What he read there brought him to tears. Tears of anger. How dare this man say these things about his godfather, about his book! Crowley had looked Adam in the face and told him he would help his godfather! It's almost as if the wanker hadn't read the book!

It took a few more moments for Adam to realize how bad the situation was. It was all his fault. He wanted to blame Crowley, but can you really blame a snake for acting like one? Adam should have never submitted the book, especially without his godfather knowing about it, without his permission. 

"Mum!" Adam sobbed loudly.

Diedre ran to her son and found him crying over the offending piece of paper. "Oh, Adam! I told you not to–"

"It's my fault!" He sniffed and hiccupped. 

"What do you mean it's your..." Diedre gasped and sent a hand to her chest. "Adam, please tell me you didn't..."

Adam's lip trembled, and fresh tears spilt.

"Fishsticks and chips!" Diedre ran for her keys and purse and began dialling on her mobile. "Let's go. Right now!"

Adam moved as quickly as he could. It was apparent they were headed for the shop. Maybe, Adam could at least warn his godfather about the article. The thought of Aziraphale hurt and disappointed, haunted Adam all the way there.

* * *

Aziraphale emerged from the washroom with a contented sigh. He towelled off and brushed his teeth. The next thing to do was dress and make the bed.

* * *

Crowley was startled awake by a loud and persistent buzzing noise. The side of his face had been practically glued to his desk. The buzzing continued as he peeled himself off the table and throne. He smacked his lips and wiped the drool from his cheek.

_ BUZZ! BUZZ! BUUUUUZZZZZZ! _

"Alright, alright, I'm coming! What the hell–" he coughed on his own words as reality hit him smack in the face. "The article," he gasped. He shot out of the study and answered the intercom. "Who is it?!"

"Your worst nightmare, Anthony!" Harriet's voice blared through the small speaker. "You were supposed to pick up Warl–"

Crowley swore and buzzed her in. "You'll never be my worst nightmare," he grumbled, "because I'm already LIVING IT!" 

While Harriet made her way to his flat, Crowley tripped around looking for his keys and wallet. When he found his dead mobile, he groaned and cursed himself. How could he have forgotten to charge his phone?! He gargled some vile mouthwash in lieu of brushing his teeth and dashed to the door before Harriet could even knock. 

"Warlock was late for school!" She screeched after him.

"WHAT TIME IS IT?!"

"How dare you–!"

Crowley ignored his sister and ran for the stairs. "Harriet, I need your phone."

"Anthony!" Harriet followed her brother. "Wait, you idiot!"

"What-what-what?!" But Crowley did not wait, he continued bounding down the steps.

"Your shoes!"

Crowley power walked to his car. "What are you on about?!"

"You're not wearing any shoes!!"

Crowley looked down at his feet and saw she was correct. "Shit. No time. Get in the car!"

"No! You've lost it. Where are you going?"

Crowley shook his fists to the sky and grated. "I need to get to the bloody bookshop, Harriet!" He threw open his door and barely waited for his sister to get in before he turned the ignition. The car stalled. "WHAT NOW?!" Crowley slammed on the pedals and flailed.

Harriett leaned over and placed a cautious hand on her brother's shoulder. "You're empty."

"OF COURSE, I AM! I'VE BARELY SLEPT! I RUINED A MAN'S CAREER! WARLOCK HATES ME NOW! SO, YES! I'M EMPTY! AN EMPTY ARSEHOLE WHO CAN’T GET HIS SHAMBLES OF A LIFE TOGETHER NO MATTER HOW HARD HE TRIES!" Winded, Crowley panted and dropped his head on the steering wheel.

"Anthony."

"Whaaaaaat?" He whined.

"The  _ car _ is empty. The car has no  _ gas _ ."

Crowley snapped his head up and stared at the dash. He'd forgotten to fill up on petrol. Very matter of factly, Crowley turned to his sister and blinked slowly. "I'm beginning to think there is a god, Harriet. And I'm arse over tits in her elaborate, divine, ineffable plan to destroy me."

Harriet rolled her eyes and pulled out her mobile. "I'm calling you a cab. And an appointment with your therapist."

Crowley sighed. "Fair enough."

* * *

Anathema woke with a gasp and an ugly feeling swirling in her stomach. Still in her nightgown, she rushed to her door and opened it to find the Morningstar Paper on her step. She was shaking as she picked it up and tore through it, looking for whatever the fates were warning her about. Anathema caught the title of Aziraphale's book and paled. 

"Oh, Nutter's boils and hexes! I need to get to Aziraphale!" 

* * *

Ah, yes, Aziraphale thought with warm content as he laid the newspaper on his desk, turned on his computer, and fetched his breakfast. He grumbled when the phone rang for the third time already. Couldn't people just wait until he opened? Rude.

* * *

Adam had never seen his mother so frazzled on the road. She was cursing up a storm if that's what it could be called. "You bunch of wan-weenies! Move out of the bl-eeping way! FFFFIDDLESTICKS!"

Diedre decided to stop calling Aziraphale because it was evident he would not be answering. They were close anyway, and she finally caught a break in traffic and nearly swerved onto the pavement right in front of the bookshop.

"Adam! Out! Find that newspaper and tell your godfather what you did!"

"Yes, mum!" Adam jumped out of the car, his mother following behind. The paper was nowhere to be found. "Mum," he nearly whimpered.

Diedre muttered something under her breath and banged on the door. "Aziraphale! It's Diedre! Please let us in..."

"HEY!" Anathema bounded down the sidewalk and didn't even greet the others as she fumbled with her keys and the lock. Anathema threw open the door, and the three of them scrambled inside. "Boss!"

"Uncle Az!!"

"Aziraphale!"

They cried in unison. 

The sound of steps could be heard before the backroom door opened and Aziraphale emerged. He leaned on the door frame and eyed his guests with mild surprise, clasping his hands behind him. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He drawled with an expectant look. "You all look like you've experienced quite the fright. What's happened?"

Anathema looked to Deidre who looked back to her who then sought Adam before realising she was the one that had to break the bad news. Anathema cleared her throat and took a few steps toward her employer.

"Uh, well, we are all here because we... read... some bad news and thought... we should be... here... to break the news to... you. Together. As your friends. And family. You know... support system..." 

She pursed her lips and opened her mouth to speak again when Aziraphale meandered out of the office and casually tossed the damning article onto the till counter.

Aziraphale shrugged and waved a hand over the paper. "Does the arrival of the cavalry have anything to do with  _ this _ ?"

One could hear a feather fall on the carpet in the silence that ensued. 

"Nothing to say now, then?" Aziraphale uttered quietly, his calm exterior doing nothing to put the others at ease. He picked up the paper while donning his spectacles. "'A.Z. Fell should have known better than to send me this cliched rot.'" He looked up and gave them a mirthless smirk. "And yet, A.Z. Fell did not send his cliched rot to A.J. Crowley, so..." he shrugged again, "who did? It's quite the mystery, is it not?"

Anathema was positive Aziraphale thought she had done it. The way he was looking at her, expectant and disappointed, tore her heart in half. The witch could feel the guilt rolling off Adam in waves, and she couldn't let the poor boy take the fall, at least not on his own. The kid loved his godfather so much, and he would never have sent in the book with any other intention than to do good by Aziraphale. She looked to Adam briefly, who just stared at the floor in shame.

Aziraphale raised the paper again and continued reading. "I didn't even have to pay for this book, and I feel like I've wasted my money. Fell should be ashamed for murdering trees to print even one copy of this unoriginal waste. I mean, I can't even use it as loo roll, let alone gift it to some poor, love desperate fool just to get it out of my sight. It's that bad. I have never been a proponent of book burning but tossing this one into a fiery pit of sulfur might lend a moral argument to the vile deed. I–"

The door to the shop flew open, and Crowley stumbled inside, waving his arms in a frenzy as if to help land an aircraft. 

"Aziraphale!" He gasped and panted. "I made a horrible mistake, and I–" Crowley froze and took in the room of people staring at him with a mixture of confusion and rage. Then he saw the newspaper in Aziraphale's hands. "Aw, it's too late," he frowned, "it's too late. You're reading it right now, aren't you?"

Aziraphale seemed surprised while everyone else appeared they were ready to commit murder. The bookshop owner cocked a brow. "Huh." That was all he uttered, and it made Crowley shudder with dread.

"Is that him?" Diedre pointed with a scowl. 

"That's him," Anathema groused.

Diedre looked him over like he was a filthy rat. "Why isn't he wearing any shoes?"

Crowley hung his head and shook it. "It wasn't personal at all. I am so fucking sorry, Aziraphale–"

"Why?" Aziraphale dropped the article on the counter again and crossed his arms. "I actually have no need for an apology from you. You merely did your job. Isn't that right? Not personal, as you just said."

"Eh..." Crowley let out with shifty eyes. "So... you're not... angry?"

Aziraphale widened his eyes with a bit of a crazed smile. "Oh, no, I am." He nodded. "I am very angry, Mr Crowley."

Crowley flinched at Aziraphale's acidic formality.

"What I would appreciate is knowing how in the world my manuscript ended up in your vile hands?" Aziraphale let his eyes travel from person to person as they eyed him with cautious silence. "Because I thought I made myself very clear, that I never,  _ never _ , wished for  _ his _ opinion on the matter.  _ Ever _ ."

Crowley knew he deserved that. His eyes flashed to Adam briefly before Crowley shrugged. "I... I dunno. It just showed up on my desk at the wrong time. I had a deadline and–

"I don't rightly care, Mr Crowley," Aziraphale said with his eyes closed as if summoning patience. "In fact, you may leave. This matter doesn't concern you."

Anathema eyed Crowley suspiciously. The man in black wasn't just missing his shoes. He was not wearing his sunglasses either, his eyes naked filled with emotion. He seemed much older and wearier than the day before. She did not miss the glance at Adam, but Crowley did not give the boy away. He was actually a bit self-sacrificing, almost trying to call blame to himself over anyone in the room. Why would he care?

"Look, Aziraphale," Crowley raised his open palms in supplication. "I'm going to fix this–I know it's too late for the paper. I can still call some agents if you don't have one. Good agents. The best! I'll write a personal letter of recommendation and explain–"

"What?" Aziraphale looked utterly bewildered. "Why? What exactly do you plan to explain? That you read my book, hated it, wrote about how much you hated it, and then suddenly changed your mind?"

Crowley's mouth dropped open, but only a strange croaking noise came out.

Aziraphale scoffed and shook his head. "I highly doubt you wish to have drinks with someone like me that badly, and I certainly don't need your  _ pity _ ."

Crowley blanched. "Someone like you?"

"Mr Crowley, I am a grown man. Even though my ego has been bruised black and blue, I am man enough to accept that I have no or minimal talent for the written word–"

"No!" Crowley waved his hands frantically. "I'm sure it's good, I mean you're articulate and intelligent, funny–"

"Excuse me?" Aziraphale breathed. 

"Oh, shit." Crowley swallowed hard.

Aziraphale took three slightly limping steps toward Crowley and tilted his head. "What do you mean you're  _ sure _ it's  _ good _ ?" 

Crowley could see the red filling Aziraphale's face and the hint of a bulging vein on his forehead. Instinctively, Crowley took a step back and was grateful the door behind him was still open. "Uh, erm, look... it was just bad luck. One of my other pieces was supposed to be published but, uh, my boss wanted–"

"Oh. My. God." Anathema's jaw dropped. "You didn't read it."

Diedre gasped, and Adam looked from Crowley to his godfather in shock. The boy's glare landed on Crowley, and he advanced on him. "I knew it! You didn't read it! You wrote all those awful things about my godfather, and you didn't even read it?!" Adam shrieked with fresh angry tears. 

Crowley backpedalled, hands up in surrender. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. I know that. No one else's. I'll fix it. I'll read it–"

"No, you most certainly will not," Aziraphale grated as he marched toward Crowley with a more obvious limp. "Get out."

"Yep!" Crowley nearly jumped out of the shop. "I won't bother you again. I guess drinks are off, huh?" He laughed with self-depreciation. In answer to his question, Aziraphale slammed the door in his face. "I'M SORRY! Ah, fuck."

Crowley turned toward Harriet, who was staring at him from the cab window and shaking her head with disappointment. He got in the cab and groaned into his hands.

"Your cell has some charge now. A prince of hell has been calling non-stop?"

"Wonderful," Crowley replied just as his mobile began to ring. He took the phone and answered it. "Yea–"

"YOU FUCKING MORON! YOU RIPPED APART A BOOK OF A MEDICALLY DISCHARGED VETERAN?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR SATAN-LOVING MIND?! GET IN MY OFFICE RIGHT NOW, CROWLEY!" B hung up.

"Holy shit," Harriet mumbled. "Anthony..."

Crowley nodded, his heart shrivelling up at the newfound knowledge that Aziraphale wasn't just a regular nice guy who didn't deserve what Crowley had done. No, Aziraphale was much more than that. He was a nice guy who fought for Queen and country and was injured, god-knows-how, while in active service.

"If there really is a Hell, Harriet..." Crowley sighed, "I'm about to go on permanent vacation there."

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter so soon? What about my wrists? Well, I have no patience, my friends. But I've done my wrist stretching, hot and cold compresses, and used speech to text. Speech to text is very helpful and at the same time not? It's a love hate relationship right now. The plus is that chapters get done quicker. The negative is that the chapters are dumpster fires.
> 
> Thank you so much everyone on Instagram and in my discord and here in the comments for all of your encouragement. I am really excited to continue the story. Chapter 8 is written but not edited. Hopefully I can have it done tomorrow.
> 
> Of course, I have to thank my betas and Brit-picker Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!

Everyone experiences disappointment. No two encounters with bad luck are the same. How one person responds to the pain of failure or defeat will never be identical to how someone else will feel or react. The one thing that is true across the board though is that everyone experiences disappointment, and suffers the consequences. Just because one believes their circumstances merit more suffering than someone else's doesn't mean their pain is more significant. Pain can never truly be measured, and only you know how much pain you feel. It is fruitless to compare one suffering against another. 

However, since we can all appreciate what pain and suffering feel like, we should be able to empathise with our fellow Earthly inhabitants. Unfortunately, humans usually only think about their own personal troubles.

Adam was wrapped up in his guilt and how his transgressions would affect the relationship between him and his godfather. The thought of confessing alone made the boy rigid with fear.

Warlock was consumed with the shame of being related to his uncle and wondering how his relationship with Adam would proceed. 

Anathema was worried about her job, should she choose to take the fall.

Diedre was beyond embarrassed.

Harriet had bigger fish to fry, a fish named Thaddeus and the frying being divorce.

Aziraphale, poor Aziraphale, was too blinded with disappointment and the sense of betrayal to consider anyone else's feelings or reasonings. 

Crowley, oh, Crowley was spiralling into the worst existential crisis known to man, in his opinion anyway.

Everyone was thinking about themselves, and that is a natural, human thing to do. So, Aziraphale disregarded any other sentiments flitting about in his shop and decided he was too upset to deal with the situation head-on.

"Please leave," he whispered. "I need to be alone. I don't care who did it. Just go."

Anathema stepped forward and wrung her hands. "This is my fault."

Diedre smacked Adam's shoulder, which startled the truth out of him. "It was me."

Aziraphale eyed them both coldly. "I'm closing the shop for today. Maybe a few days. I don't know. Maybe not." His leg was aflame. Stress usually made his chronic knee pain worse, and he was mighty stressed indeed. He tried his best not to show his physical discomfort, but it was near impossible to hide it. He limped his way to the backroom and let out a long hiss as he eased himself in his chair. With the weight off his knee, Aziraphale groaned with relief. He heard the front door open and shut, but then noticed hesitant footsteps. 

"Uncle, Az," Adam whispered from the doorway into the office. "It's not Anathema's fault. I did it. I loved your book."

Aziraphale couldn't help the scoff that escaped him as he stared at his reflection on his dark computer screen.

"I mean it. I thought it was brilliant and Anathema did too. I didn't think anyone could  _ not _ love it. I thought... I thought I could help."

With a tired sigh, Aziraphale waved weakly. "I understand, Adam."

To Adam's ears, his godfather sounded calm and fine, but he knew that couldn't be possible. "Do you... hate me now?"

Aziraphale snapped his gaze to Adam's tearful ones. "I could never hate you, my dear boy." He sighed again and waved his godson over to him. 

Adam ran into Aziraphale's arms and cried. "I'm so sorry uncle Az, I should have asked. I'm sorry!"

Adam needed a hug, and he needed comfort. But who would comfort Aziraphale? Who would embrace him? He rubbed Adam's back, reassuringly. "I forgive you, my boy. Your... your heart was in the right place. I just need some time to collect myself, yes? All will be well in time." He nodded quickly as if convincing himself. "You should get to school." He let Adam go who reluctantly said his goodbye's and left.

Aziraphale was truly alone. There had been no time to think about the article or what it truly meant for his book. "Dead in the water, is what it means, old chap. Dead in the water."

His eyes found his reflection again on the computer screen. Maybe there was one person who could comfort him. Aziraphale hit the spacebar and prepared his correspondence.   
  
  


* * *

Crowley was not new to hate mail and empty threats, but even he was impressed with what had piled up in just one morning. 

B circled him like a shark while reading off the angry notes and letters. "I'm ending my subscription, you heartless prick." She flung the paper in the air. "You're Satan incarnate. How could you? I'll never read this vile paper again." Another sheet got tossed at Crowley's face. "You're dead, guy."  _ Fling. _ "You scoundrel! Until you resign, I will never read this paper again!"  _ FLING FLING FLING!  _ "YOU GET THE POINT?!"

Crowley nodded numbly. "Yep. So should I pack my things?" He sounded much too calm for his own comfort.

B scoffed. "You wish, arsehole! You're going to write an apology, and  _ then _ we will see if you can keep your soddin' job! I want that letter by tea time!" She marched out, leaving the mess of Crowley's fanmail behind her.

An apology. Crowley could do that. He wanted to do it—more than anything. In fact, it felt dire to start writing that very second, so he did.

  
  


* * *

  
Warlock had been dreading school. He tried to stay home, but his mother wouldn't have it. Adam had missed the morning class, and he could not say he wasn't a bit relieved about it. Warlock finally caught sight of the Them at lunch surrounding Adam who looked utterly depressed.

With a long sigh, Warlock plucked up the courage to clear the air. He couldn't let his uncle ruin his potential social life. He didn't want things to be like how they'd been in America. 

Adam made eye contact with him, and it nearly made Warlock run for the hills. His classmate looked livid pissed (in American terms). Pepper stood up and blocked Warlock's path.

"Hey, Adam," Warlock nearly mumbled as he peeked around the girl, "can I talk to you?"

Pepper shook her head. "He doesn't want to talk to you."

Warlock took a deep breath through the sudden ache in his gut. "My uncle tried to stop the press. I was there. But he didn't make it in time. Anyway, what happened wasn't my fault–"

"Doesn't matter," Adam spat defensively. "Every time I look at you, I'll just see how hurt my godfather was. I don't want to run into Crowley again anyway so I don't think we can be friends anymore." Adam panted, trying to hold tears back.

Warlock felt his face heat with rage. "Fine! I thought you guys were different! You're not. I'm better off without you lot anyway." Warlock stormed out of the lunchroom and hid in a WC stall to cry until it was time to go back to class.

He was not surprised to find his mother waiting for him after school. At least he didn't have to see his uncle, he thought angrily. Harriet tried to get him to talk to her, but as usual, Warlock kept his thoughts to himself and bottled everything up. It was better that way. No one really cared, after all.

  
  


* * *

By the time Crowley got back home, his blistered feet could have fallen off once he removed his new but hideous trainers. At least he broke them in. He could have just lunged into his bed and slept but the shower called to him first.

B had taken his apology letter, was satisfied with it, and then suspended him with no pay until further notice. He needed the time off anyway, she graciously reminded him.

Entirely in the nude, Crowley sauntered into his office, grabbed his laptop, along with a bottle of scotch, and went to bed. He drank right out of the bottle while he checked the forum. He smiled. Angel was the only one who could make him smile lately. Crowley was pleased that Angel kept to the private messages.

> _ Hello, _
> 
> _ I hope things with work went as well as they could have. I've had quite the day, myself. I'm tempted to tell you about it but, well, we promised to wait until our dinner date to divulge anything too personal. Anyway, I haven't really processed everything that's happened today. I'd rather talk about what we will be eating on Tuesday. That will certainly get my mind off of things. You've been to the Ritz, probably on many dates. Maybe you can tell me what you've enjoyed there in the past. _
> 
> _ I hope you're well, _
> 
> _ All my best, _
> 
> _ Angel _

_ Hey Angel, _

_ I'm still working on fixing my cockup. There was more collateral damage than I had anticipated. It's pretty bad. I'm sorry you had a bad day. Wish I could help. Can I help?  _

_ You really do love food, eh? Our date is a week away! Are we really going to start planning for every course? If that's what you want, then I'll have to indulge you. ;) Mind you, the menu does change, so don't get your hopes up! And as for how many dates I've taken to the Ritz, you will be the first. It's been quite some time since I've been on any date to be mortifyingly honest. _

_ I have a feeling you have a bit of sweet tooth. There was a chocolate souffle that even I thought was to die for. I hope it will be available on Tuesday.  _

_ Other than the work debacle, I'm alive! Reading your message certainly helped put me in a better mood. _

_ Best, _

_ D _

Crowley was about to close his laptop when Angel responded. He was surprised to see the quick reply.

> _ Do you have a moment to chat? _

_ For you, always, angel. _

> _ Charmer.  _
> 
> _ Sorry things didn't work out at your job. And talking to you has already lifted my spirits considerably as well. I must say, I'm honoured to be your first date in "quite some time", and you shouldn't be embarrassed about that. _
> 
> _ I confess I do love fine food and drink. I try not to overindulge, but it's not the easiest thing for me to do. At the risk of saying too much, I think I should at least prepare you for what you'll see when we meet. Being a lover of food has its obvious consequences. It's, well, it's been a nonstarter before. _

Crowley shook his head quickly and began to type quickly.  _ Stop right there, angel. That doesn't matter to me. _

> _ Oh, but I really don't want you to be disappointed. _

_ I won't be. _

> _ Really now, how can you be sure? _

Crowley sighed. "Silly, angel."  _ Do I strike you as shallow? Can't you just trust that I value you for you? _

> _ What if I'm too... soft for your taste? _

_ I like soft. _

> _ Charmer. _
> 
> _ Thank you, demon. I suppose my self-esteem suffered too much today. I'm being ridiculous. _

Crowley could already feel himself seethe at the thought of someone hurting his angel. _You are NOT ridiculous. Anything but!_ _Did some arsehole say anything about your weight? Give me names, angel. I'll make them regret it._

> _Oh, dear. No-no. Nothing like that. It's sweet of you to care. Thank you._ _Anyway, I shouldn't keep you. It seems we've both had a trying day. Rest well. Talk tomorrow?_

Crowley frowned. As tired as he was, he was reluctant to end the conversation. He reminded himself that Angel had pretty clearly placed a boundary and that he should respect it. It was always difficult not to take such things personally, always wondering if he'd said or done something wrong. But Crowley knew it was his own issues that made him feel that way.  _ Of course, angel. Good night. _

> _ Good night. _

Before Crowley nodded off, he decided to do one more thing. He clicked through his work drive and found his apology letter and read it for the umpteenth time.

_ Dear Major Fell, _

_ It is with my sincerest apologies that I write this letter to you and the Morningstar Press readership. Usually, I'm used to upsetting the masses with my callous and uncouth attitude. I must admit I am quite ashamed of the cruel review I gave you and your book. I made it personal, and I shouldn't have. It's clear you have great potential to be a novelist in the romance genre, or in any genre for that matter. My prejudices on the subject of romance blinded me to your skill. I would very much like the chance to reexamine your novel and judge it with a professional eye because I was entirely unprofessional and, to be honest, quite heartless. In no way am I trying to excuse my behaviour, but my severe lousy luck with my own personal, romantic relationships have tainted my outlook on love in general. Again it is no excuse. I was foul and disrespectful, and I do not deserve your forgiveness or the forgiveness of our readers. Please know that I am grateful for your sacrifice in Afghanistan. After reading about you and your achievements, I can safely say that you are a better man than I will ever be. Not only are you brave for serving our country and going head-on into a war that, quite frankly, could never truly be won, but you are brave because you dove headfirst into a new career and completed your first manuscript. A book that you believe in. Not many, in our stage in life especially, can say they have accomplished such great feats. I know I can't, and that is the honest truth. I may have written enough articles that add up to several books, but I have never been courageous enough to write a novel. I am genuinely sorry for my awful words and judgment. You are an intelligent man and a kind man who did not deserve the words I put to paper for all to read. This has been and will be my greatest shame of not only my career but of my life. I'm not just trying to save face or save my job. I have been rightfully suspended, and I have no idea if I will ever write for this paper again. But I am glad that if this is the last thing I write at least it is the most honest thing I have ever written to someone I admire. I do hope you resubmit your novel so I can give it the proper attention it deserves, casting away my personal biases and opinions as I should have done and should always do when critiquing the written word. With genuine respect, thank you for your service, and I will do anything and everything in my power to make sure you get a real chance at publishing your work. This is not pity. This is a debt I must repay. I know I'm the last person you want help from, but I really must insist. Rest assured you will be receiving calls from Agents and Publishers alike. Please see this as an opportunity for those more qualified than I to judge your work and see if it has merit, which despite what I wrote before I believe it does. _

_ Again thank you for your service. _

_ Respectfully, _

_ A.J. Crowley _

Everything he’d written was true. His only regret was not admitting to everyone that he did not do his proper research or read Aziraphale’s book. Crowley had been tempted to, but then he would really lose his job and never work as a journalist again. He hoped his apology was enough. He hoped that although he did not deserve Aziraphale’s forgiveness, he could have it anyway. It was probably wishful thinking. The debacle would probably haunt Crowley for the rest of his life. An apology letter was not enough. Crowley made an oath right then and there that no matter what it took, Crowley was going to help Aziraphale. Yes, come Hell or highwater, Crowley would keep his word.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for the beta work and Brit-picking! Speech to text is probably making your job a bit harder lol. Sorry! You two ROCK!

Three days had gone by, and Aziraphale had not opened the shop. He did not want to see anybody. He just wanted to stay curled up in bed. So it was apparent he was suffering quite thoroughly. Not that Aziraphale had never gone through disappointments before, but this one hurt just a little bit more than the others. He tried to understand why. Aziraphale knew the world was unfair, and he knew that there were some people out there that didn't give a fig about anybody but themselves. His hangover wouldn't let him properly scrutinise the situation. 

There was one thing that did not change, even with a little bit of nausea; he was hungry. The only thing he could think of eating was ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream. An extraordinary amount of ice cream. All kinds of flavours. And not that soft-serve nonsense. He wanted that creamy, dense kind. He wanted all the flavours so he could take a bite of each in succession. He briefly thought about doing it in alphabetical order and then realised he didn't have any ice cream and he was not about to go out and get some.

Aziraphale decided to get up and at least have some orange juice, maybe a couple of aspirins. He stayed in his flat about half the day, ignoring his mobile which kept ringing over and over again, ignoring the knocks he could hear downstairs. He didn't even have the urge to go down to the study and write to the demon. It had been so foolish, talking about his insecurities over his weight. He thought he had gotten over that! Fishing for information about the demon's previous relationships was also low. Aziraphale felt ashamed and never wrote too much for fear he'd embarrass himself again.

When he finally got out of bed, it was to move to his recliner and stare at the ceiling. He dozed on and off there, startling awake to his own snores. At one point he was able to microwave yet another frozen dinner, which had been in the freezer for almost a year. It disgusted him, but he bit into it anyway. It was almost as if he felt he deserved to have a vile meal. When he'd gotten through half of that slop called food, his palette couldn't take it anymore. With a huff, he picked up the little tray and threw it in the rubbish. 

With his head a little clearer, Aziraphale was able to get angry. Mind you, Aziraphale did not like feeling angry, far from it, but anger was better than sadness in his opinion. Grief keeps you immobile, and anger pushes you into action. Not the healthiest outlook, but one must do what they can to survive trials.

Cursing Crowley's name to the ninth circle of Hell, Aziraphale went to his bedroom, looked at himself in the mirror, pointed at his reflection and gave himself a lecture.

"You are going to get dressed and make that bed, soldier. Then you're going to go downstairs and write to your dear friend before he changes his mind about wanting to meet you. _Maybe_ you will call your mother–that is a _big_ maybe–and tell her about what's happened."

Aziraphale's eyes widened with fright at his own threat.

"Never mind, that's probably not a good idea. As for your book, oh, well, you got what you deserved. You were too cowardly to submit the book yourself, and you can't say you didn't hope Anathema would do such a thing behind your back. But having Adam do it for you? Shameful."

Aziraphale was proud of himself for accomplishing everything he ordered himself to do. He had been tempted to beg the demon to meet sooner than Tuesday. St James Park was lovely enough, and they could keep their date for the Ritz as well. In the end, he decided against it, not wanting to seem too desperate. Plus, what if their first meeting did not go well and they still had the table for the Ritz? That would not be prudent.

The bookshop landline rang, and Aziraphale didn't answer it. He had unplugged the answering machine as well. So it rang a couple of times more. He ignored it again and again. Then his mobile went off, he checked the caller I.D. and sighed. It was Anathema. Against his better judgment, he answered the phone.

"Yes, my dear? Do you need anything?"

"Do I need anything?" she nearly yelled. "Yeah, I need to know if you're okay!"

"I'm alive."

"That does not mean you're okay! Look, I wanted to apologise. I know I wasn't the one who submitted your book, but I might as well have! I gave Adam the idea. So don't be too harsh on him, please."

"Adam already came clean. I forgave him. All is well." Aziraphale sighed long and hard. "I suppose I should be thinking about a pseudonym and then try submitting the book elsewhere after some time has passed."

"Maybe you won't have to change your name."

Aziraphale frowned. "Why?"

"I'm guessing you haven't read the Morningstar blog?" 

He rolled his eyes. "Why on Earth would I do that?"

Anathema stayed silent for a moment before speaking again with a cautious tone. "Crowley wrote you an apology. Apparently, he was suspended from his job. Not gonna lie, boss, it's pretty good. I can almost forgive him, not that I think you should or anything. That's totally up to you. But it is a really good apology, if he meant any of it."

"If he meant it..." Aziraphale shook his head, but his curiosity had been piqued.

"The bad press turned out to be good press for you, I think!" Anathema exclaimed excitedly.

"Oh, I don't believe in that nonsense. Bad news is bad news. A.Z. Fell is ruined."

"I'm guessing you haven't looked outside your door either?"

"Not really. I haven't answered the door or the phones. Crowley's minions have been filling up my answering machine with their requests for meetings."

"Aziraphale!" Anathema chided. "I can't believe–okay, whatever. First, go look out your window." 

Aziraphale went to the front windows, pulled back the curtain a little to take a look, and found a small group, seven people really, of what looked like protesters on the sidewalk across the street. Some of them were dressed in army uniform. They were holding signs that read "Crowley is a bully!" "Respect our Veterans! "Crowley is a soldier hater!" "Fire Crowley!"

"Oh, for goodness sake," Aziraphale breathed and closed the curtains before they could see him.

Anathema chuckled. "Yep."

"Good thing I'm not opening the shop. I hope they leave soon," he muttered.

"Aziraphale, this could help you!"

He knew where she was going with that as soon as she said it. "No, Anathema. That’s not the kind of attention I want. I don't want people giving me book deals because I'm a _disabled_ veteran. I want my book to be successful on its own merit because it's _worthy_ of being successful."

"But Aziraphale, it _is_ worthy of being successful! I really wouldn't tell you so if I didn't believe that!" Anathema nearly groaned with frustration.

"I appreciate that, dear girl, but you're still a friend, and I don't think you can give me an unbiased opinion. To be honest, Crowley would have been the perfect person to get a critique from." Aziraphale rested his forehead in his palm. "I really did think, for a moment there, that my book was worthless. At least I know now he didn't read it. I don't know what's more insulting, to be honest."

"Well, he does want to read your book! For real, this time!"

Aziraphale pulled the phone in front of his face and spoke directly into the receiver. "I'm not giving that snake my book," he pronounced.

Anathema really did groan that time. "Can you just read the apology? And think about letting him read it?"

"No."

"So then what are you going to do? Leave it on a shelf to collect dust? I can't stand the thought of that. Do you not want Crowley to read it because he's an asshole? Because you have too much pride? Or is it because you're afraid of a real critique from him?"

Aziraphale contemplated and couldn't find an answer. "I suppose those are all good questions."

"Please just promise to think about it. Don't let pride keep you from reaching your dream!" 

With a nod, Aziraphale sighed with defeat. She had a point. "I will think about it. Thank you for calling. It means a lot."

"Deidre has tried calling you too. Maybe give her a call back?"

"Of course." He opted for a text instead.

Aziraphale hung up the phone and rested his chin in his hand. So Crowley had written an apology. Of course, the paper would make him do that to save face. He wondered if Crowley had the nerve to tell the whole truth, that he had judged his book by the literal cover and not read the thing before critiquing it. He doubted it. 

It was then Aziraphale finally felt like he was in the appropriate mood to think about Crowley.

He replayed the moment Crowley flailed his way into his shop in a panic. Aziraphale scoffed at the memory. It was too bad that it was in such awful circumstances that Aziraphale saw his naked face, his bare, handsome, wrecked face. Crowley really had looked awful, and yet, his mussed hair, sweaty face, and the dark circles around his eyes did nothing to squander his good looks. Damn him.

Aziraphale was a good judge of character, or at least he thought he was. Having met Crowley in person for the first time, he knew he had misjudged the man. But then Crowley went and did something stupid. 

Crowley had no reason to warn Aziraphale or apologise. He must have already written the article before he realised who wrote the book. What a strange coincidence, Aziraphale thought. What were the odds that his godson would deliver the manuscript to Crowley, only for Crowley to end up at his book shop! And out of all of the submissions that Crowley must receive, he picked Aziraphale's to put in the paper. They practically had the same middle name for Christ's sake. Very very odd, Aziraphale mused. 

That kind of irony had to mean something. Aziraphale, although not religious, was a man of faith. He believed in God or something like it, some sentient energy. He believed life was so ineffable that only God could make sense of it. Aziraphale was bothered by the feeling that he was meant to learn something from the whole experience, but he just didn't know what it was.

Was it forgiveness? Was it God showing him how cowardly he really was? Were they still supposed to go on that date? He couldn't imagine doing that! Maybe this had nothing to do with Aziraphale at all and everything to do with Crowley. Perhaps it was the critic's lesson to learn in order to change his ways. Maybe God felt that Aziraphale was the best person to weather what had to transpire for Crowley to wake up and see his errors.

"Why me?" he whined.

Aziraphale went to his desk in his study, woke his computer up, and very slowly searched for the Morningstar website. In large letters, on the very front page, was Crowley's letter of apology. He rolled his eyes a few times while reading, but Aziraphale couldn't say he didn't believe the words written there. As he predicted, however, Crowley did not admit to not reading the book. So that part about not saving his job was utter horseshit. 

Did that mean he did not truly feel sorry for his actions? Aziraphale wanted to say yes but, again, the look on Crowley's face, not wearing his sunglasses or shoes–for goodness sake! The man must have woken up, put on the same clothes he wore the previous day, and rushed out the door just to warn Aziraphale of what he had done.

Damn it all to hell, Aziraphale thought. The man was an idiot, to be sure, but clearly not a complete monster. He hated knowing that. He wanted to hate Crowley, but Aziraphale was not the type to hate anyone really. It just wasn't in his DNA, he guessed. In fact, most of the time, he gave people the benefit of the doubt even when they didn't deserve it. 

Maybe it was his religious background, or how he was raised, but Aziraphale had always tried to understand the perspective of the other person and understand why people did the things they did. At that moment, it was a virtue Aziraphale wished he did not possess. He was still too angry to give Crowley any slack though, so he turned off his computer–but not before printing the apology. He did not ask himself why he printed it out and decided it was probably not a good idea to know the answer.

* * *

After three days, Crowley finally had the stomach to leave his flat. There was nobody out on the street waiting to murder him, so he considered that a win. The only thing keeping him sane was his correspondence with Angel, who actually seemed a little distant lately.

Still, Crowley had learned a lot about him even if he kept personal details out. It was clear the man was fussy and picky. He thought it was adorable, but at the same time, he was worried that the angel would be a bit too picky and decide Crowley was not relationship material. It was getting harder and harder for Crowley not to think about angel every second of every day. That was a bad sign. At least therapy helped. His therapist was quite stunned when Crowley had finally finished his tale of woe.

"Oh, thank Christ," Harriet breathed when Crowley showed up at her door. Harriet still didn't have the whole story, so they sat and Crowley dished it all out. "Holy shit, Anthony. I've heard and seen some things in my time but this is the weirdest thing I think I've ever heard. So did they fire you?"

"Don't know yet." Crowley rubbed his tired eyes and sighed. "What do you think I should do?"

Harriet scoffed. "What did your therapist say you should do?”

"He never tells me what to do. It's frustrating." Crowley stood up and began to pace. "I should help Aziraphale. I'm trying to help him."

Harriet shook her head. "Nice sentiment, but does he want your help? He kicked you out of his shop. That seemed like a clear boundary to me." 

"Yeah, I know! What am I supposed to do? Leave his career in the gutter? I have to help."

Harriet gave him a suspicious glare. "Is it really to help him or to make _you_ feel better about your fuckup?"

Crowley let out some incoherent noises before actual words emerged. "Well, both yeah? I do feel like shit, I'd rather _not_ feel like shit. And I think I'd feel better if I could undo what I did but I can't so I have to make do with what I've got, and what I've got are resources. Resources I can point Aziraphale to."

"Right." Harriet drummed her fingers on the table in thought. "What do you expect will happen if you are able to fix things for him?"

"Ngh! I know where you're headed with this, Harriet! I am not in love with Aziraphale. I already told you about Angel. I'm going to meet him in a couple of days, and I'm shiting bricks. I'm wondering if I should just cancel it. Should I cancel it? It's probably a good idea to cancel, yeah?" He felt a bit manic, so he sat down and tried not to bounce his leg.

With an exasperated sigh, Harriet leaned in and placed a comforting hand on her brother's. "How your therapist thinks you're ready for a relationship, I will never understand." She patted his hand and retreated once more. "Okay, let's start with the questions."

"No. I don't need that. I'm fine."

Harriet pulled up her phone and searched for a document. "Here we go." She cleared her throat. "Are you obsessively thinking about Aziraphale? Are you calling him several times a day? Are you trying to control any aspect of his life? Are you stalking him?" She looked up at Crowley expectantly.

Crowley frowned after a long pause. "What's the appropriate ratio of yes and no again?"

"That's not funny."

Crowley groaned. "It was a joke." 

It was not a joke. 

Was Crowley thinking about Aziraphale more than he should? Probably. But he felt guilty, not obsessed! Did Crowley try calling him twice a day? Yes. But the question specified _several. Surely,_ several meant more than two. Had Crowley tried to get his hands on Aziraphale's manuscript by pretending he was an agent? Maybe. But how else was he supposed to read it? Was Crowley stalking Aziraphale? Well, he had to make sure the man was okay. It's not like he was out on the street, following Aziraphale everywhere. All he did was look up the store hours, and noticed that the bookstore had been closed for a few days. Crowley was just worried. He definitely wasn't stalking. Unless one were to count all of the social media scouring he'd done to check on the man. But everyone does that!

"Crowley?" Harriet warned. "Answer the questions."

"Okay, maybe a little bit of yes to each of those," Crowley admitted. "But it's because I feel guilty not because I'm in love with him.. guilt. Definitely guilt."

Harriet tried not to slam her phone on the table. "You know it doesn't matter whether it's guilt or love or a sense of duty, he does not want to _see_ you. He does not want you to read his book. He does not want your help in any way. You did your part already by apologising. That was noble. That was the right thing to do. But that's all you _can_ do. You cannot _control_ what this man wants to do with his book. You can't make him like you or forgive you. So, what do you need to do?"

"Sod off and leave him alone," Crowley grumbled.

Harriet nodded with a dangerous smile. "That's right. Good boy."

"Fine. You're right. I'll stop trying to help."

"Good." Harriet shook her head and shrugged. "Because not only will you push Aziraphale away even further, but you'll also push away this new guy you're into by being a creepy, clingy fucker."

"I'm not creepy," he mumbled petulantly. "I am a bit clingy, though."

"A bit." Harriet agreed with wide eyes. "Anyway, I want to know how the date goes. And if you get fired of course." Harriet pointed to Warlock's door. "Now, go talk to your nephew. I can't keep taking him to school. So, you two better figure something out. I can't pay for a babysitter either."

Crowley thought Warlock would have cooled down by now. He was wrong. As soon as he knocked–

"Go away! I don't want to talk to you! Ever again!"

Crowley banged his head lightly on the door. "Look, kid, I'll apologise every day, multiple times a day if you want me to. I am willing to do that because, believe me, I am sorry. Your mom needs help, and I promised I would help her. You don't have to talk to me or even acknowledge me. All I need you to do is get in and out of the car twice a day, five times a week. With the occasional babysitting and all that."

"No."

"Come on! What can I do to fix this between you and me? There's gotta be something!"

Warlock's voice got closer to the door, but he only yelled louder. "Oh, I dunno, get the kids at my new school to stop treating me like a turd?! Get Adam to talk to me again! You can start there!"

Crowley frowned and shook his head with disappointment. "He's not talking to you? Are kids really treating you that bad?"

Warlock stayed silent.

Crowley took a deep breath and counted to three in his mind. He needed to stay on topic and not go off the handle. "Listen, Warlock, I'm going to try my best to–"

Heavy Metal rock began blaring, drowning Crowley out.

Crowley shouted anyway. "RIGHT! OKAY THEN! BYE!" 

With his mind going a mile a minute, Crowley began to speed down the streets of London. Warlock was being shunned, and it was his fault. Crowley knew he couldn't talk to Adam. But he did know someone who could. Briefly, he thought about what his therapist would say. He would probably say that the parents of the boys should be the ones to handle it. So he ignored that thought, pretended he never had it in the first place, and started rehearsing what he would say when he reached the bookshop.

This was all about Warlock, not about him, not about Aziraphale. About Warlock. That's right, only about Warlock. He was definitely not stalking. Nah, not stalking.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the next chapter is the Ritz! PREPARE THYSELF! I'm so excited. I actually outlined the entire chapter bit by bit. The outline alone is over 1K words. So it might be a very long chapter LOL. I hope you enjoy this chapter! And I hope you find the humour in it all with all the irony. XD
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink! Your excitement for every chapter is inspiring!
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for your comments and support, TvT My novel just needs an epilogue and then rewrites! AH I'M SO CLOSE IT'S SCARY! LOL! I've been chatting with an illustrator too and even plan to make my own special edition hardcover copies!! XD I'm so excited but also super nervous.

A smug pair of hazel eyes peeked out from behind the bookshop curtains. Aziraphale was filled with sick joy, watching Crowley backing away from the angry mob that had been lurking across the street. He chuckled maniacally while Crowley plastered himself on the shop's door. Aziraphale wondered if the serpent might flatten his lanky body enough to squeeze through the letterbox. 

"Serves you right, scoundrel," Aziraphale muttered with a wicked smile as he bit down on his lip with anticipation. He was quite curious as to how Crowley would handle the situation. "How, oh how shall the snake slither his way out of this one? Hm. I wish I had some crisps."

* * *

So the angry cavalry had piled up in front of Aziraphale's shop and not in front of Crowley's apartment. There were probably some gathered at the press too. Crowley had found this out much too late. Now he was cornered, backed up against the locked door of the shop, with no way out, surrounded by angry people. Not many people, just six people, but six people are a lot of people for Crowley, especially since he couldn't fight worth shit. Two of these people were very large men giving him a murderous stare and in army uniform no less.

"You shouldn't have come here, arsehole."

Crowley held up his hands in surrender. "Listen, guys, I really don't want a problem here. I apologised. I'm here to see if I can right my wrongs. I understand you're upset. I'm upset with myself! Haha…!"

"Too little too late," said the other large, bald, scary man.

"Yeah," said a short woman who was still no less scary. "You ruined my niece's career as well. She was seventeen for goodness sake! I mean, her book was actually rubbish, but you could have been nicer at the very least!"

"You're right," Crowley admitted, "you are so right. I am very sorry. Trust me, I am mending my ways."

Large man number one, with the unkempt beard, loomed over Crowley and brought up a huge chubby fist. "I think you need to be taught a lesson so that your mended ways stick."

"Oh shit. You're gonna hit me," said Crowley defeatedly as he braced himself with a full-body cringe, shoulders touching his ears.

The man reared his arm back and time slowed for the book critic who was about to become a human punching bag.

Several things happened at once. The door opened behind Crowley, making him fall back onto his arse inside the bookshop. The fist of the man could not be stopped at that point, and it was about to collide with Aziraphale's face. Everyone present fully expected that fist to make contact, but it seemed that Aziraphale pulled some kind of miracle and caught the man's wrist in his bare hand, redirecting it and using leverage to pin the much larger man up against the door frame.

"Now, now, private," he said, "there really is no need for violence. I appreciate your valiant effort, but I think it's best if you leave now, yes?"

"Aye, sir!" the man replied with wide eyes.

Aziraphale let him go immediately.

The army man turned around and saluted his superior. "Sorry, sir!"

"No harm was done, soldier," Aziraphale waved them away with a shoeing motion. "Thank you so much for your support. Very lovely of you to stop by and give me a thrilling show. I haven't had worthwhile entertainment in quite some time!" Some of them chuckled as they dispersed. Once Aziraphale was happy with the distance between him and the crowd, he turned around and bored holes through Crowley who was still on the ground gawking stupidly.

"You have some nerve coming back here," Aziraphale said as he entered the shop, closed the door, and locked it with an ominous click.

Crowley was still too stunned to speak. He kept replaying how the soft bookseller had bested the gorilla of a soldier. No one had ever helped Crowley out of a fight before. Nobody cared to. And yet this man, who he had hurt in a very real way, had just saved his skin. And in the sexiest possible way that Crowley could ever imagine. He tried to shake that thought away.

"Oh, dear boy," Aziraphale lamented, "do you need help standing up?" he asked with such faux innocence that Crowley should have known better than to accept his hand.

"Oh, yeah thanks–!"

Quicker than Crowley could think, he was hauled up, damn near lifted off the ground completely, and then slammed into a wall. It didn't hurt, but he yelped with surprise anyway. Aziraphale was only a tad shorter than Crowley, but he felt like the shop owner was towering over him. They were nose to nose and Crowley, for the life of him, did not feel threatened. With mounting horror, Crowley realised he found Aziraphale even more attractive now than three days prior.

"Oh, fuck."

"Language," Aziraphale warned. "You've already disrespected me on paper, no need to do it right to my face."

The heat coming off the retired Major made Crowley chafe in all the wrong places. He cleared his parched throat and reached in his mental arsenal to diffuse the situation. "If you're waiting for my consent to kiss me, ya have it."

Aziraphale let him go like he had the plague and made a disgusted noise. "Buffoon, I'm glad you're here actually, even though I pointedly threw you out arse first–"

"Technically, I jumped out. Arse first. Of my own free will."

Aziraphale glared at Crowley and shook his head with disbelief. "There must be something very wrong with your head."

"Several things, actually," Crowley conceded. He must have shown too much on his face despite the glasses because Aziraphale's expression morphed from accusation to concern. "Um, I need to speak with you…"

Aziraphale schooled his face to such cold indifference that it made Crowley want to shrink back. "I'm going to make myself very clear. I do  _ not _ want your  _ help _ . I want your people to stop calling me. And no, you will not be reading my book until it's on shelves and I can do nothing to stop you."

Crowley nodded and waved a hand. "That's not why I need to talk to you. But if that's what you really want, then consider it done. Whatever you want."

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “Why are you here, then? What else could you possibly have to say? I already read your apology. Are you here for forgiveness? Because I'm not really in the mood to give that to you just yet, or maybe ever."

It was hard for Crowley not to show his deep disappointment. But he pushed his own hurt feelings aside and thought of Warlock. "I'm here about my nephew. He and your godson were getting on to be friends, but after...what I did, they no longer speak to each other. Apparently your boy has a lot of influence in his school. So because he's shunning him, the rest of the kids are too. I know what I did was wrong and vile, but my nephew had nothing to do with that. Warlock is not to blame. He's just a kid. And he's going through a lot right now. He just moved from America, changing schools, and his parents are getting divorced. I guess I was just hoping you could speak with Adam, I think his name was? See if he can cut him some slack. Warlock is a good kid. He doesn't deserve to be ostracised. I know what that's like. I definitely don't want him ending up like me."

Crowley had said all of that without really thinking and without looking at Aziraphale, so when he met his gaze, Crowley was shocked to see such deep emotion on the man's face.

Aziraphale took a step back and tilted his head, considering Crowley. He nodded slowly in deep thought and frowned. "I was unaware of this. I'll speak to him. That behaviour is uncalled for."

Crowley sighed with deep relief. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"I'm not doing it for you," Aziraphale said with some venom.

Crowley held his hands up, palms out. "I know, I know. Thank you anyway. You're a good man. A good person."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He shook his head again, confused with a furrowed brow and shrugged defeatedly. "You are the strangest man I have ever met."

Crowley smirked. "Yeah, probably."

Aziraphale could not help a slightly amused scoff before he straightened and crossed his arms. "Is that all then?"

"Yeah. That's all, I guess."

"You guess? Is there or is there not something else you'd like to say. Because this is the last time we shall ever speak."

Crowley stayed silent. He thought about Angel, and how he'd be seeing him in a couple of days. Crowley hoped things went well, but if they didn't, he'd be even more disappointed that he never went out for drinks with the cute-yet-bastardly bookshop owner. He figured he had nothing else to lose. He removed his glasses and looked Aziraphale straight in the eyes.

"I wish I would have met you sooner. I was really looking forward to buying you that drink." He chanced a wry smile which seemed to throw Aziraphale in for a loop because his mouth dropped open slightly and he seemed very surprised. "Anyway," he sighed and put his sunglasses back on as he stepped toward the door, "I really do wish you luck with your book. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. Well, unless I lose my job, in which case…" he thought twice before pulling out his wallet and removing his business card. He held it out to Aziraphale who only stared at it like it might bite his hand off. When Aziraphale made no move to take it, Crowley turned toward a nearby shelf and shoved the card between two books. Without looking back, Crowley left with a barely audible, "Goodbye, Aziraphale."

The chimes jingled as the door closed behind Crowley. Leaving Aziraphale wondering if he had stepped into an alternate universe. He stood there staring at the door for a long time, barely blinking.

"Excellent, I'll be dissecting that encounter for weeks." Aziraphale shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose before locking the door to the shop again. 

No, he could not start wondering what the Hell that was all about, he had things to do!

"What do I have to do?" He wondered a bit panicky like he may have left the stove on. "AH! Yes, Adam!" Aziraphale put on his coat and muttered through the flustered fog that had overtaken him since pushing Crowley up against a wall. Why on Earth had he done that? He hadn't even been that angry when he did it. 

"Never mind that. Doesn't matter. To Adam!" He picked up his cane, a sturdy thing coated in engraved copper with an angel torso and wings as the grip and decided to go out the back door just in case. When he reached the exit, Aziraphale paused, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Leaving his sanctuary always felt daunting. Nothing outside of the shop was in his control. Everything was so loud out in the real world. He took another calming breath and stepped out.

* * *

Aziraphale had opted for a cab instead of public transportation, he wanted to be back in time for his daily chat with the demon. Already, he had made good time. Hopefully, it wouldn't take long to talk some sense into his godson. Shunning another child! That was something he didn't think Adam was capable of. No, no, that needed to be curbed right away.

Deidre was happy to see Aziraphale, giving him a large embrace. "I've been so worried about you. Adam is still all out of sorts."

Bless Diedre, he thought. Being his first cousin, she had been the closest thing to a sibling he had growing up. "Actually, that's why I am here. Is Adam home yet? I'd really like to speak with him."

Deidre looked concerned. "I grounded him, you know? He hasn't complained at all about it. So he knows he's done wrong."

"Oh, no dear, I'm not here to cause further stress about that. This is about another matter. It shouldn't take long to have a little chat. Then I'll be on my way."

"Oh no, you must come in and stay for dinner! Please. I feel like I owe you something for what happened."

"Don't be silly. Anyway, I promised a friend I would be available to chat later. 

"Oo," Deidre winked suggestively, "a man friend?"

Aziraphale blushed. "As it happens, yes."

At that moment a car pulled up to the house and Adam came out of it, he hesitated when he saw his godfather on his doorstep.

"Hello Adam," Aziraphale greeted, using his free arm to embrace him.

Adam seemed cautious, but returned his godfather's hug. “What are you doing here, uncle Az?

"I came to see you!"

Adam swallowed and paled. "Okay," he squeaked.

"How about a walk,” Aziraphale offered. "I haven't been out of the bookshop in a while. My legs will atrophy if I don't get more exercise!" It did cross his mind that he hoped he could lose a few pounds before he met with the demon.

Adam nodded. 

"We'll be back in a tick," Aziraphale reassured.

Adam asked about the book shop, Aziraphale's health. He even mentioned the weather, he was so nervous.

Aziraphale answered all of his questions patiently and waited for a pause to speak his mind. "How's school?"

Adam shrugged. "It's okay."

Aziraphale frowned at the clear discomfort of his godson. "You know I'm not angry with you, yes?"

Adam nodded, but didn't look convinced.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," he smirked sadly. "I wanted to submit my manuscript, but I was too frightened. And to be honest, a small part of me hoped Anathema would finally convince me or do exactly what you did."

Adam whipped his gaze up with shock written all over his face. "Really?"

"Shamefully, yes. So regardless, events probably would have transpired precisely the same."

Adam thought hard for a moment and frowned. "Maybe."

Aziraphale sighed and changed topics. "Were those your friends?"

"That was Wensleydale's mom, yeah."

Best get right to the matter at hand, Aziraphale thought. "What about that boy who came into the shop? I believe his name was Warlock? You two seemed thick as thieves at the shop. Have you brought him into your  _ gang _ or whatever you call it?"

Adam scoffed. "No. Crowley is his uncle, remember? They were in the shop together the day before... the day before  _ it _ happened."

There it was. Crowley had been speaking the truth. Small miracles. "What does his association with Crowley have anything to do with that? You seemed to be bonding so well! Don't tell me you're judging him based on Crowley's vile actions."

Adam shamefully looked at his shoes. "I just don't want to run into Crowley again. So I'm keeping my distance."

"I see." Aziraphale nodded sagely. "I doubt you'll be running into Crowley in your classes. Warlock had nothing to do with what happened. And as I remember, you said he was new to the school. I'm sure adjusting has not been easy for him. And you were part of welcoming him and making him feel at home. Does he have any other friends?"

Again, Adam looked at his feet and shrugged. Then he sighed dejectedly. "No. No, he doesn't."

Aziraphale let a quiet moment pass before speaking again. "If  _ the incident _ never happened, would you still be friends with Warlock?"

"Maybe." Adam bit his lip in deep thought and nodded. "Yes. He's really cool. We like a lot of the same things. He's funny."

The pain in Aziraphale's leg began to throb a bit too much for his liking, so he paused and placed a hand on his godson's shoulder. "Let's rest a minute, and then we can head back." He caught his breath and leaned his weight on his cane. "If the roles were reversed, how would you feel if Warlock befriended you then shunned you the very next day? And you had no other friends?"

Adam groaned. "I'd feel awful," he admitted. "I just felt like I was betraying you if I stayed friends with him."

"Nonsense! I have no quarrels with the boy. And I certainly do not judge him for his uncle's behaviour. Listen, Adam, there's a lot in life that we all must learn and at every stage. If you like him and you want to be friends with him, then you should do that. You know you're the most popular boy in school. You're in a unique position to influence others around you whether you like to or not. You are a natural leader. There's a lot of responsibility in that. A lot of power."

Adam chuckled. "With great power comes great responsibility."

"Ah, probably the only worthwhile contribution of William Lamb, though I believe that proverb predates him. Where did you hear that?"

Adam only laughed more. "It's from Spiderman."

"Spider what now?"

"Never mind, it's a movie. You wouldn't like it,” Adam chuckled again.

"Well, in any case," Aziraphale smiled and straightened, "the spider fellow is very wise. I'm not going to tell you what to do. It's your life, your choice. But I hope you think things over."

Adam nodded slowly in deep thought. "I'll do the right thing, uncle Az." He murmured his promise. "So you won't be mad if he shows up at the shop?"

"Of course not."

"What about Crowley? What if he shows up to pick Warlock up or drop him off or something?"

"Crowley and I have reached an understanding, like the adults we are." A brief replay of leaving Crowley to the wolves for his own entertainment was quickly shoved aside, as well as the whole manhandling. "I'm sure he'll keep his distance, regardless." Even as he said it, a little voice told him not to hold his breath. 

There had been an odd look in Crowley's eyes. It was clear he was a tenacious fellow. One did not get to where he was without being persistent. However, Crowley had promised to stay out of his hair. Which filled Aziraphale with slight disappointment that he also shoved aside. Crowley had left the choice in Aziraphale's hands, or on his shelf, rather.

Forcefully kicking Crowley out of his mind–arse first, Aziraphale thought of the demon and smiled. His date was approaching, and Aziraphale hoped his meeting would put Crowley and the whole debacle behind him. With every passing moment, Aziraphale became surer that the demon could be  _ the one _ . Only time would tell.

  
  


Aziraphale was happy to find a message from the demon waiting for him at home. He smiled from ear to ear at just seeing his username.

_ Hi angel, _

_ I think I've done just about everything I can do to right the ship. I still feel awful. I've not been forgiven by someone very close to me or by a particular peer. I don't think I ever will be. But I have to let it go now. Thinking about you helps. I hope it's not too forward of me to say that I think about you a lot. Maybe more than I should.  _

_ Fuck, I can't believe I actually sent that. Shit. Ignore that. _

Aziraphale chuckled and began to type.  _ Not too forward at all. I think about you also, probably just as much. Whoever these people are, who refuse to forgive you, must be heartless! I can't imagine you could do anything so cruel that you could not earn absolution. _

_ Oh, angel, no. They are good people. What I did was very cruel. I've hurt them quite badly. I don't deserve their forgiveness. _

_ My dear, everyone deserves a second chance, especially if they genuinely try to mend their ways. That includes you... _

  
  
  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so those of you who have seen the films for the musical or read the book, you guys know what's coming in this chapter. I'll be following loosely, but still following! 
> 
> Those of you who do not know what happens next... DON'T HATE ME! XD
> 
> Thank you beta's Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink! The speech to text was obviously a huge fail this time lol! I'm sorry! You guys are awesome!
> 
> This is the first time I've had trouble keeping up with comments! lol! Thank you so much!!
> 
> \-----  
> Famous lines!
> 
> From the Shop Around the Corner:   
> "Well, I really wouldn't care to scratch your surface, Mr Kralik, because I know exactly what I'd find. Instead of a heart, a hand-bag. Instead of a soul, a suitcase. And instead of an intellect, a cigarette lighter... which doesn't work.
> 
> From You've Got Mail:   
> "If I really knew you, I know what I would find. Instead of a brain, a cash register, instead of a heart, a bottom line."

Adam thought he'd finally start to get some decent sleep, but then his godfather had to come along and give him another moral dilemma to think over. At this point, he thought it would take a miracle to get some decent shuteye.

Monday had rolled around, and Adam had met up with the Them and told them that he was going to make up with Warlock. They were surprised, but after explaining his reasoning they felt just as bad as he did. The four of them kept an eye out for the new kid but he never showed. Warlock did not attend any of the shared classes they had. Adam began to worry. He had thought about calling him but then realised, in his anger, he had blocked Warlock's number and deleted it. He thought about looking for him on social media but knew he had to make amends in person. His father had taught him that. So had his godfather. So he was quite relieved when Warlock showed up on Tuesday.

Adam had been a little late to school, as usual, and he tried to make eye contact with Warlock who was unpacking his books. But Warlock kept his head down. The new kid always kept his head down. Something ugly twisted in Adam's gut at the stoic face of his classmate. When they had first met Warlock was shy, but had a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. That glimmer was gone now. And it was his fault. No matter, he thought, he would find him at lunch just like Warlock had found him the day he ruined everything.

It felt like lunch would never come! All Adam could think about was what he was going to say to Warlock. He had wanted the support of the whole gang but knew it would be best to approach Warlock alone first. 

Finally, it was lunchtime, and Adam had never run so fast to the cafeteria. He looked around as his peers were still piling in. He took his regular seat and waited quite impatiently. Well into half his lunch, neither he nor the rest of the gang could spot Warlock in the room. 

Adam began making inquiries with other classmates who shared classes with him. 

"The new kid? He's been eating his lunch outside like a loon."

Lunch would soon be over, and he would lose his opportunity if he didn't run. Adam raced out of the school towards the field. He nearly tripped over Warlock, who was finishing his lunch on the steps. 

"Watch it," Warlock bit out. He gasped when he realised it was Adam, then he quickly turned away.

"Hey!"

"Hey, what?!" Warlock glared at him. "You ran into me. Are you gonna blame me for that too?"

Adam felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He felt so awful. Adam was almost as bad as a bully. And he hated bullies.

"Can I sit with you for a mo?"

Warlock nearly choked on a bite of food. He turned wide eyes to Adam and considered him for a moment before nodding curtly.

Adam sat, keeping some space between them and sighed. "I'm sorry I've been such a twat."

Warlock scoffed and could not hide a smirk over the favourite golden boy cursing. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. It wasn't fair to blame any of it on you. I think I was just, what's that word? S'not protecting... starts with a  _ p _ though–"

"Projecting," Warlock supplied softly. "My mom says I do that a lot too."

"I really like you," Adam said genuinely. He smiled when his classmate suddenly turned beet red. "Can we be friends again? Start over?"

Warlock pursed his lips to keep from smiling back but nodded enthusiastically.

"Cool," said Adam.

"Cool," replied Warlock.

* * *

Adam wasn't the only one who was frantic to see someone on that Tuesday. Aziraphale had bitten a thumbnail off too close to the skin, leaving his thumb throbbing whenever it grazed something and ruining his perfect manicure.

He was pretty certain he had tried on hundreds of bowties, wondering if his attire was appropriate enough for his date. His date! Beyond nervous, Aziraphale checked his new laptop that Anathema helped him get over the weekend. The infernal thing was taking an eternity to install an update. 

To keep himself distracted, Aziraphale had made tea, oodles and oodles of tea, all the while in his underwear just waiting to put on his suit. Now it was time and he stood in front of the mirror with a disgruntled expression. He held a men's body shaper pinched between two fingers as if it smelled foul. One of his exes bought it for him for Christmas. It wasn't a committed relationship anyway, but it was the final straw to cut ties with the man entirely. 

"Why haven't you thrown this thing away?" He scolded his reflection. "And why on earth are you contemplating wearing it?! You're ridiculous. You're absolutely ridiculous."

With a huff, Aziraphale stepped away from the mirror but quickly stepped back, the shaper still in his hand. He groaned and then tossed it on the floor, stomping on it for good measure. Aziraphale panted and stared at the offending thing. 

"Blast."

He picked it back up and began wrapping it around himself. "I can't believe you. Wearing a corset!" He fumbled with the clasps, growled with frustration. Looking in the mirror while heaving from the exertion, Aziraphale shook his head and ripped the thing off of him.

"No, Aziraphale. You are too old to be pretending you're someone else. You've spent more than half of your life doing just that, and you are not about to start again!" 

* * *

In a fancy but bare flat in Mayfair, Crowley was freaking out - for lack of a better word. That was usually par for the course, but he was definitely extra manic than usual. Crowley had tried on eight different suits. He didn't even know he owned eight suits. 

Every time he looked in the mirror, he'd make a retching noise at his own reflection. He wondered if he still owned that makeup case from his stint in theatre back in Uni. The circles around his eyes were doing him no favours, and neither were the puffy bags. He couldn't hide behind his glasses this time, at least not for very long.

"And what is that?!" Crowley screeched at the mirror. "Since when do I get zits?!" He thanked Someone it was barely visible, just under his jaw.

The phone rang, and when he saw who was calling, Crowley answered the phone immediately, putting Harriet on speaker while he continued to fuss with his hair.

"You've been freaking out since last night, haven't you?" She said drily in lieu of hello.

"Wrong! Since last week," Crowley corrected proudly.

Harriet chuckled. It was the first time he'd heard her laugh in quite some time. 

"How many times have you checked the forum?" she asked just as Crowley refreshed the page on his laptop for the–well, he wasn't sure. He'd been refreshing the site all day.

"None of your business. Should I confirm? I should confirm. Right? That's not too much, is it?"

"Yes, Anthony," Harriet said in a bored tone, "you should confirm. But leave it at that."

"Okay." He typed up a quick message to Angel, confirming he would be meeting him at the Ritz at 8 PM. Then he started to panic when two seconds went by without a reply.

As if reading his mind, Harriet consoled him like a good sister. "Give him time to reply, moron. Finish getting ready. He's probably doing the same right now."

"Right. Good point." He looked at the laptop three more times before deciding to put on his socks. Then he checked the computer again. Nothing. 

Crowley began to sweat. "What if he doesn't reply?"

"He will. Don't get in your head."

* * *

Aziraphale nearly jumped when a loud noise came from the new computer. He rushed to it, had trouble with the new layout. At least he knew how to get on the wifi. 

He finally reached the forum finding a message from the demon confirming their meeting. He wrote back as quickly as possible with his own confirmation.

It was finally time to put on his suit, but there was a problem.

"Why am I bathed in sweat?!" Aziraphale yelled at no one in particular. He checked his armpits. "Did I sprout faucets?!" Aziraphale rushed to the kitchen and shoved napkins under his arms. 

He didn't want to be late and dashed out the door only to go right back in because he'd forgotten his book and rose. Before he ran out again, he eyed his cane with indecision. "You need it, old boy. He should know what he's getting." He grabbed the cane with a decisive nod and got in a cab.

* * *

Crowley nearly tripped over himself to check the message.

_ Confirming, my dear! I'll be there at eight. I'm looking forward to our meeting.  _

"Ngk."

Harriet sniggered. "See? Now say it."

Crowley groaned. "You're always right."

"Yes, I am."

"Fuck, why am I sweating like a Floridian?!"

"Ugh, God, don't ever mention that place again." Crowley could almost hear Harriet shudder.

* * *

The cab driver stared at his passenger through the rearview mirror. The man was sweating bullets and dressed impeccably, if not old-fashioned, looking like a bomb might land on him should he get out of the car.

"Sir?" The cabby inquired. "Are you gonna get out or...?"

"Ah, yes. Yes." Aziraphale hurriedly paid the driver but stayed put, staring at the beautiful and very intimidating building from his window. "Oh, dear, I'm going to be sick." 

"Not in my cab you're not!"

"Right. Sorry. Toodle-loo!" Aziraphale flew out of the car and gripped his cane before he could swoon. "It's dinner. Just dinner. You've eaten dinner before. Lots of dinners. Too many dinners..." he grumbled as he took steps toward the entrance. 

He'd seen pictures, but that did not stop Aziraphale from gasping in awe. 

"Hello, sir," the host beckoned. He was a tall, handsome man, with a polite, shining smile.

"Oh, hello," Aziraphale squawked, his dignity already depleting by the second. He cleared his throat and approached the man.

"Name?

Aziraphale was about to give his name when he suddenly remembered it would be impossible to find a reservation under his own name or the demon's. "That is a good question. Erm, this is a unique situation, you see, there's this forum–a book forum, nothing unsavoury. If that's what you thought. That sounded awful. There's nothing wrong with some of those forums..." The host was blinking at him with a frozen polite smile. "I don't have a name. Well, I have a name–of course, I have a name, everyone has a name, but you won't have it. Or my dinner companion' s–oh! Has he arrived yet?" Aziraphale flapped a hand nervously. "Of course you wouldn't know because I don't have a name and you have no idea who I'm talking about–"

"Are you, perhaps, Angel?" The host finally interrupted with a concerned furrow of his brow.

"Yes! Oh, of course! Yes! Haha!" Aziraphale giggled hysterically. "I'm a bit nervous. Yes. That's me. Did a demon come in yet? Not an actual demon, I mean the name, of course you know I meant that, how silly of–"

"No, sir. The guest under that name has not arrived, but we can seat you right away. Your table is ready."

Aziraphale let out a long breath of air and nodded. "All right. Thank you. Lead the way!" He chuckled nervously.

* * *

Crowley was late. Crowley was late, and he was yelling curses at everything he could see on the road. At a stop, he typed a quick message to Angel.

> _ Running a bit behind. Be there soon! _

He nearly drove over the valet's toes and then ejected himself out of the car. Crowley preened all the way to the entrance. The host greeted him, but Crowley was so nervous, he spoke over the man.

"Demon!" Crowley practically barked. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. "Sorry. I meant reservation under demon."

"Wonderful! I'll take you to your–"

Before the man could walk in the direction of the dining area, Crowley pulled him by his jacket sleeve and whispered. "Did someone going by Angel arrive yet?"

"Uh, yes, sir. About five minutes ago."

Crowley paled. "What's he like? He's a he right?"

"What? Oh, yes, sir." The host was visibly trying to stay collected and professional. "He is a he."

"Okay. Yeah. Good. Yeah." Crowley swayed indecisively, still gripping unto the man's coat. "What's he look like? Not that it matters. I don't care about that, but what's he look like?"

"Aren't you A.J. Crowley?" The host asked with a quirk of his brow. "The one who slighted that veteran?"

Crowley let the man go and put his fingers to his head. "Brilliant. That's what I'll be known for now. Great. Yes. I'm that guy. Now, can you just take a peek in there, look for a man with a book and flower, and tell me what he looks like. I can pay you."

The man widened his eyes. "That is not necessary, sir. I find blind dates so romantic. I'll take another look for you." The host walked past the lobby. Crowley could see him squinting. Then his eyes widened with horror.

"Oh, no," Crowley breathed. "Hey!" He whispered harshly at the host who was now looking between the dining hall and Crowley like he was watching a tennis match. He waved the man over frantically.

The host rubbed his eyes, took one more look within, and then blinked with confusion as he walked back to Crowley.

"What the hell was that about?" Crowley hissed.

The host looked at Crowley suspiciously. "It's a blind date?"

Crowley stared at him for a moment. "Yeah."

"And you don't know what he looks like?"

Crowley wanted to shake the idiot that stood before him. "What the hell do you think blind date meanssss?" 

The host giggled nervously.

Crowley grabbed him by the lapels and actually shook him. "Having a laugh at my date?!"

"Ohoho, no, no. But  _ you _ did." The host barely suppressed the next laugh, the man was near imploding. "It's just he, um, he looks like..."

"What are you on about? Like?!" Crowley gave him another jerk.

"Okay, okay. He looks like that veteran. Can you let go now?" 

Crowley let the man go without even realising it. "What do you mean... he looks like... the veteran?"

The host nodded and righted his coat. "Spitting image."

"What?" Crowley breathed. "Like a doppelganger?"

"Yeah, no, it's him."

"It's who?"

"The man you publicly humiliated is sitting at your table... waiting for you... his date...  _ PFFFffft _ !" The host covered his mouth before his spittle landed anywhere else. 

He failed to smother his hysterics as Crowley felt the world spin. He reached for the host's shoulders to steady himself and got right in his face. "That's not funny," he muttered low and dangerous. "You're fucking with me, and it's not funny."

"I'm not! Look for yourself!" Crowley's accusation sobered the host up some, and he motioned for Crowley to go on ahead. "I didn't realise it was him at first, but then you came along, and I made the connection! You really didn't know?"

Crowley's hearing went out, leaving a shrill ringing in his ears as he manhandled the host toward the dining area while crouching behind him. The man was wise enough to go along with it all. 

"Over there," the host whispered and pointed discreetly.

Crowley peeked around the man and nearly swallowed his own tongue. There was Aziraphale, sitting with a bloody book and rose before him on the table, squirming in his seat nervously.

He could vaguely hear the host calling for him as he pushed the doors open and left.

* * *

Aziraphale gave himself another internal pep-talk. The demon was late. About ten minutes late. No big deal. Traffic and all that. He confirmed. He definitely confirmed. He adjusted his book to a more visible area so he could be recognised immediately. He sipped his water and–to Hell with it, he needed wine!

* * *

The host had guided a dazed and wobbly Crowley back into the restaurant but out of the public eye. He sat the book critic down and handed him a brandy. Crowley downed it like water and waved his empty glass for more. 

Three glasses and a rehash of his bizarre tale of woe later, Crowley wrapped an arm around the host.

"I've figured it out, eh, um," he snapped his fingers, "wa's your name ‘gain?"

"Gabriel."

"Gabe! I've figured it all out," Crowley wagged a finger and leaned in close to whisper his epiphany. "This is Hell," he chuckled. "I must have died that day I got hit in the bollocks by the old woman who thought I pinched her arse." He giggled then abruptly grew serious. "Which I did  _ not _ , by the  _ way _ . Turned out to be her crochet needle that poked right through her purse–anyway...! Crowley let Gabriel go so he could slap his hands together. " _ SPLAT! _ I hit the ground and blacked out. Yep! That had to be it. Woke up in Hell and I'm being tortured for all eternity by Satan himself." He nodded sagely. "How did you end up in Hell, Gabe?" Crowley asked flippantly.

"Uh..."

* * *

Two glasses of wine, and ten minutes later, Aziraphale started to panic. The demon was now twenty-two minutes late. He was desperately trying not to think about being stood up. Obviously, it had to be very important for the demon to be tardy. Hopefully, it wasn't due to any automobile accident or the like. Aziraphale decided to wait. If in ten more minutes, the demon did not show, he'd order the Salted Peanut Parfait, the closest thing to ice cream on the menu.

* * *

"You gotta go in there, man," Gabriel's prim demeanour had vanished along with his sad companion's sanity.

"Nah. I can't. Hey," Crowley sipped the last drop of brandy and squinted at the man next to him, "Am I that drunk or do you suddenly have an American accent?"

Gabriel cleared his throat. "You’re that drunk," he replied with his perfect, standard British accent. "I can't babysit you here forever. I can either call you a cab, or you can go in there and talk to the guy. It's fate, man. This is some soulmate serendipitous shit."

Crowley whipped his head to face Gabriel so fast he nearly fell out of his seat. "Soulmate," he let out on a breath. "Nah. No such thing." Crowley was suddenly not so sure. 

"Only one way to find out, right?"

Crowley nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He patted Gabriel on the shoulder. "You're a good friend, Gabe. I'm-I'm goin' in!" 

Before he could chicken out, Crowley sprang to his feet and sauntered toward the dining room. He nearly lost his nerve at seeing a morose Aziraphale idly pulling petals off the rose in his book.

Crowley took one step, then retreated. He breathed deeply, ripped his own rose off his coat and stuffed it in his pocket.

* * *

Aziraphale had lost count of how many times he'd sent the server away. For the first time, Aziraphale wished he owned a smartphone. He needed to leave. He needed to go home and check his messages. Forget dessert, he needed to scoop up whatever dignity he had left and just go home.

Just as he was about to grab his cane, someone plopped into the seat in front of him.

"Hullo, Aziraphale," Crowley drawled with a crazed grin.

Aziraphale's jaw could have hit the table. "Crowley?!" He looked around in a frenzy before eyeing the manic looking ginger who wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. "What the blazes are you doing here?"

Crowley shrugged. "Just finished up a potential job meeting. Gotta keep my options open. How about you? On a date?"

Aziraphale turned scarlet from a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "Yes. Now leave before you scare him off."

Crowley leaned in. "You've been sitting here for a bit. Did he stand you up?"

"No!" Aziraphale rasped. "I'm just–"

"Oh, look!" Crowley snatched the book off the table. "Lord of the Rings?! And a rose?!" He chuckled.

"Give that back," Aziraphale hissed, snatching the book out of Crowley's hands. He sniffed loudly and narrowed his eyes. "Are you drunk?"

Crowley merely shrugged.

"Unbelievable. Please, just go," Aziraphale begged.

"How about we have dinner? I mean," he corrected himself, "I already ate, but since you got stood up, I'd love to buy you that drink. Hell, I'll buy you dinner right now! I owe you, you know, for... the thing."

Aziraphale sighed, and then groaned as softly as he could manage. "He didn't stand me up. He wouldn't do that. Something must have happened. Something important."

Crowley pursed his lips and nodded. "Do you know him? Because by the looks of it, you're pulling a Meg Ryan, waiting for a blind date."

"A meg-what? Never mind! I know him enough to know he is a gentleman and would not just... not show up."

Crowley slid deeper into his seat, sprawled out and lazy-like. "I'm a gentleman, and I'm right here. Have dinner with me."

With a hard roll of his eyes, Aziraphale straightened in his chair and glared at Crowley. "You are no gentleman, and I will never share a meal with you, fiend."

Crowley gave Aziraphale a devilish grin. "Maybe if you got to know me, you'd say otherwise."

Aziraphale scoffed pompously. The disappointment of the evening was fresh, the hurt Crowley had caused was still raw, and it fed Aziraphale's wicked tongue. "If I had the displeasure of getting to know you, Mr Crowley, I know what I'd find. Instead of a brain, a wallet. Instead of a heart, a snake. And instead of soul,  _ nothing _ ."

There was a long, tense moment where they just stared at each other before Crowley clicked his tongue and spoke. "Right," he uttered quietly, "well, this went down like a lead balloon." He bit down on his quivering lip and stood up. "Have a good evening, Mr Fell." With as much dignity as Crowley could muster, he stood up and walked away without looking back.

Aziraphale followed him with his gaze. He watched as Crowley pulled Aziraphale's server aside and handed him money while thumbing behind him to his table. The bastard had paid for his drinks and left.

Resting his thrumming head in his hands, Aziraphale blinked away tears. The heat of the moment had vanished, leaving him cold and lonely. His own words echoed in his mind, making Aziraphale sick with remorse. He should not have snapped at Crowley like that. The things he'd said were cruel. It didn't matter that Crowley had fired first with his damning article. Aziraphale still felt awful.

Dessert was forgotten. Aziraphale stood, picked up his book and cane, and left the wilting rose behind.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame the original story, not me! lol   
> That's what happens all across the board sooooo, not my fault!  
> I hope you are all still staying safe and healthy!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you know what happens after this chapter lol. Time to fulfil a certain foreshadowing!
> 
> Thank you beta's Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!

> 9:47 PM
> 
> _ Demon, did something happen? I saw your message that you were a bit late but that you were on your way. I hope you're well.  _

* * *

> 5:00 AM
> 
> _ Good morning, I haven't heard from you yet, and I'll be honest, I'm a bit concerned. This silence isn't like you. I'm quite worried. Please reply at your earliest convenience. I know it's early yet. I'll wait. _

* * *

Harriet had not expected Crowley to come before she had even properly started her morning. Stranger still was finding her brother dressed to the nines. He looked great, but Harriet knew her older brother well. The posture and scowl he sported meant disaster had struck. Again.

"Crap," Harriet breathed sadly, "not the walk of shame you were expecting?" She opened the door wider, and he followed her into the kitchen.

Crowley scoffed and sat limply at the bar. "No, not the one I expected, but definitely the one I deserved."

The only one allowed to deride her brother was her, and she did it with good intentions. They understood each other. Their dynamic had worked for them their entire lives. They probably got along so well because they reconnected when they were older. They shared the same father, and although he tried to keep his children in touch as much as possible, moving to America made it difficult to keep up a sibling connection. Then dad died, and Harriet got married. Anthony called about once a month, maybe out of habit, or perhaps because he didn't have anyone else he was close to. His mother, though she loved Anthony, had her issues that clearly left a long-lasting effect on him.

The longer Harriet was married, the lonelier she became. Out of sheer luck, her husband got a job in London, not that he stayed in London often. She looked her brother up immediately, and it was like they had never been separated. He was a tremendous asset to her when she had Warlock. They practically raised him together the first seven years of his life until Thadius was needed back in America. Anthony had been good at keeping more in touch, and she made a better effort as well. Visits happened twice a year at least. When she'd had it with her invisible husband, it was a no brainer to move back to London. Anthony came to her rescue again. She owed him so much. 

Seeing her brother so downtrodden and ridiculing himself, made her hackles rise. Sure, Anthony had screwed up a lot lately and in the past, but he had a good heart. Sometimes, his problem was defying that good heart until it destroyed him, over and over again. That still didn't mean that Anthony did not deserve love. So, Harriet felt awful about whatever had caused his brother's current defeatist attitude. She was genuinely concerned.

"Was he an asshole?" Harriet asked gently as she placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

Crowley chuckled mirthlessly. "Nope. He's definitely an angel. Can smite like one too." He sipped his hot coffee and exhaled dramatically. "I'm no good for him."

Harriet had to stop herself from cursing at him. "You deserve a good person who will love you, no matter what your flaws are. If he can't see the real you then he's no good for  _ you _ . Not the other way around."

Crowley brought up his cup again and mumbled into it before daring another taste. "It was Aziraphale."

Harriet knew she misheard. "What? What did you say?"

Crowley sighed, put down his cup. He removed his sunglasses and looked directly in her eyes. "Angel is Aziraphale. The Aziraphale. The man whose life I ruined."

Harriet blinked a few times before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I keep hearing you say that your blind date ended up being Aziraphale."

"Yep."

"Nope."

"Yeah."

"Nah."

Crowley nodded.

Harriet shook her head again. "That's impossible. That's–no. You're kidding. Obviously. That'd be insane though..."

They stared at one another until Harriet pinched herself to make sure she was actually awake. The full effect hit her belatedly, but it hit hard. "THAT IS  _ INSANE!" _

* * *

> 7:00 AM
> 
> _ Hello again. I don't know what to think. Actually, I've thought a lot. I came up with so many scenarios I could write a book. I know, because I've already written one. I never told you that. I was saving it for our date. I really do hope you're safe. And if you are, that you have a good reason for not showing up. Maybe it was a work thing? Though I'm unsure why you wouldn't have a moment to write to me. I can't help but think that you did come and when you saw me, you were so disappointed that you left. If that's the case, I did try to warn you. I hope I'm just being ridiculous. I can't be that unappealing that one would actually run after just a glance. You said you weren't shallow. I'm trying to hang onto that until you reply. I do hope you're okay.  _

  
  


* * *

"Harriet? Earth to Harriet." Crowley snapped his fingers uselessly in front of his sister's glazed-over eyes. He had let her read the messages between him and Angel/Aziraphale. Apparently, it had unintentionally turned her into a statue.

She suddenly gasped loudly and blinked back to reality. "What are you gonna do?" 

Crowley laughed mirthlessly. "My obsessive compulsion has now manifested in unintentionally stalking someone I didn't even know I was stalking! If that's not a sign that I'm hopeless, I don't know what is! This is a test, right? Fight against every fibre of my being telling me to pursue and capture! Well, I'm gonna win this time. I'm going to delete my account and pretend this never happened. Right?" Crowley looked at Harriet, who stared at him with tightly pursed lips. "What? What's that look, Harriet? I'm doing the right thing. Right? This is what you would advise me–what you already advised me to do."

Harriet grimaced and hummed with uncertainty. 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Crowley rasped and stood up abruptly.

Harriet cringed. "I can't believe I'm gonna say this..."

"Then don't."

"I think this is a special case." Harriet scrolled through the messages and shook her head. "You've been friends for over a year. He seems to care for you a lot, like, a lot. I think he's halfway in love with you already."

"Fuck!" Crowley groaned and tugged on his hair. "What the fuck do I do?!"

Harriet sighed and furrowed her brow, shutting her laptop closed. "I think you should tell him. I think it should be in person so you guys can talk it all out."

"He hates me," Crowley whispered because he could barely take hearing it aloud.

"But that's the thing!" Harriet stood and grabbed her brother's arms. She gave him a shake and a disbelieving smile. "He doesn't. He's known the demon far longer than Crowley, and he even said that you deserved a second chance!"

"Because he doesn't know it's me!" Crowley cried. "As soon as he realises that it was the  _ demon _ , his  _ friend _ , who publicly humiliated him and nipped his new career in the bud, it would..." Crowley nearly sobbed. "It would hurt him far worse than he's already hurt." Crowley collapsed on his chair again. "I can't do that to him."

"Well, leaving him hanging thinking you stood him up would be just as bad!"

"I can fake my death."

Harriet smacked the back of his head. "Take Warlock to school then go home and get some rest, freshen up and go to him." 

Crowley's phone pinged. "He wrote again. Shit."

Harriet was quick to open her computer and read Aziraphale's message. "This will be my last message, promise. I just wanted to say that I hope you write to me soon. I won't reach out again in case you don't want me to. Until then, goodbye, demon. Affectionately, Angel." She looked up at her brother and glared at him. "The guy is freaking out!" She grabbed her computer and shoved it into Crowley's arms. "Here. Stall him a bit. Give him some dumb excuse. Tell him you chickened out. It's technically not a lie."

Crowley shook his head hard and fast. "N-n-n-no. I'm not in the right headspace."

"Uncle A.J.?" Warlock walked into the kitchen, still in pyjamas. 

Crowley shot out of his chair. "Hey. Um, you think you can stomach me for a ride to and from school today?" He chuckled nervously.

Warlock nodded. "Adam and I worked things out. I'm still mad at you though," he added quickly but not very convincingly.

Crowley smiled genuinely. Aziraphale had kept his word. Of course, he did. "I'm glad, kid. I'm really glad."

* * *

Aziraphale felt physically sick, and his entire leg felt like it was being stabbed repeatedly. Bless Anathema for insisting on running the shop for him. He couldn't stay closed forever. Occasionally she'd come upstairs to check on him, snack, have tea, and console him. He successfully hid a few tears from her, at least he thought so. 

The new laptop sat beside him in bed that he rarely left. He had minimised the forum window but left his notifications on. He could no longer continue to torture himself by refreshing the page over and over again. The painkillers for his knee at one point helped to dull his emotions. And he slept a lot. That was very unlike him. The pain in Aziraphale's stomach would rear its ugly head every time he imagined a man entering the Ritz, seeing him, and rushing out again. But that couldn't be it. He kept yelling at himself internally that his insecurities fed him lies. That would only leave him equally pained wondering if the demon had been involved in some fatal accident.

Aziraphale hadn't been this miserable since the day he'd been shot.

* * *

Crowley had managed to get to his flat without passing out on the way there. He didn't care about the suit. He dropped onto his bed, arms and legs spread sprawled out like a starfish, and fell asleep within seconds. The five hours of sleep Crowley was able to get was enough to refresh him before his alarm went off.

He tried not to think about Angel. He tried not to think about Harriet. He had something to do. Something very important to do. 

* * *

After what had happened the previous night, Crowley was more sure of his decision with every moment.

Crowley's key card still worked, so he knew he wasn't fired yet. He was still humming to the tune of "We Will Rock You" while he strutted past the cubicles toward his desk. He ignored the ogling and plastered a smile on his face. 

"Hey, Hastur," Crowley greeted as he walked past his office. He heard Hastur curse, and then his supervisor was after him. Crowley paid him no mind as he decidedly rummaged through his own desk.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Crowley." Hastur was exhibiting a dangerous calm before the storm attitude as he crossed his arms and smiled wickedly.

"What needs to be done, Hastur. What needs to be done," Crowley announced. 

"What's that? Getting your arse fired?"

"Nah," Crowley grinned. He put some things in his pockets and then headed for the printer. There he picked up a box with printer paper and emptied it. Then he walked back to his office with Hastur following him the entire time, looking at Crowley like he'd lost the plot.

Everyone had stopped working to see the spectacle. Crowley put his three potted plants into the box along with some other personal items like pictures of Warlock and a handful of his favourite pens. Then he turned around and walked right up to Hastur. 

"I quit, you slimy toad," Crowley smirked and then pushed past him but not before yelling, "so long suck-ah!" He practically waltzed out of the building. Crowley never felt so free. Everything in his life had gone to shit so fast that he had spun out of control. There was one thing he could control. And that was quitting a job he hated. Quitting a job that ruined a friendship and nearly destroyed his bond with his nephew. A job that hurt too many people. A job that killed his chance with the man he was in love with.

Crowley had no job, no Aziraphale, and no angel. Somehow, that knowledge made Crowley optimistic. He had a plan. Well, maybe half a plan. The first part of his plan was quitting his job. Check. Second, was to pick up Warlock from school. Third, and this is where the plan got a bit fuzzy, confess to Aziraphale. 

If Aziraphale was hurt and disgusted by him, then nothing would really change, Crowley would lose him for good. On the other hand, if Aziraphale really was halfway to falling in love with him, maybe Crowley could be forgiven and get a second chance.

* * *

Warlock jumped in the car with a beaming smile and pink cheeks. Crowley cocked a brow and smirked. 

"Got a hot date?"

His nephew flustered immediately. "No! But someone did invite me somewhere."

Crowley looked at him inquisitively. He was so happy that his nephew had his friend back. "Oh yeah? Who, when, and where?"

Warlock cleared his throat and squirmed in his seat nervously. "Adam. Now. The bookshop."

_ Oh, that's just perfect,  _ Crowley thought to himself. "So, I guess I'm just dropping you off there for a bit?"

Warlock sent his uncle a pleading look. "Yeah, he said that his uncle isn't feeling well and needs a hand at the shop. He said his godfather doesn't mind me going there, but you're not invited."

"Yeah, I figured that. And he said he doesn't feel well?" Crowley resisted cringing at the news. Whatever was wrong with Aziraphale was most likely due to the previous evening's events.

"Yeah, I thought I could help Adam." Warlock pulled the puppy-eyed look.

Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes. "Good lord, hellspawn. Of course, I'll take you. I'll just hang out at a coffee shop or something. I need to look for a job anyway." Crowley put the car in drive and had an idea. It was either going to make things better or exceptionally worse. "Just one detour and then to the book shop." And, God, how he hoped for the former. "The great thing about hitting rock bottom is there's only one way left to go. And that's up," he muttered aloud.

"Did you just quote the Koala from the movie Sing?" Warlock deadpanned. 

Crowley scowled. "Good movie, that one. Don't tell anyone I said that."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly quite shocked at the response the story has gotten! Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos!
> 
> Thank you Azeran and IntergalacticsuperTwink for the beta and Brit-picking!  
> And a big thanks to my partner Tim who helped me write 1500 words and gave me a good couple of funny one-liners in here. lol
> 
> So here's a question that came up: Do you eat your ice cream in a bowl or in a mug? I eat it in a mug. Is that a thing anywhere else? 
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of mental health issues.

Anathema had just rung up a customer when a loud purr of an engine stopped outside of the bookshop. It rumbled idly when Adam's friend walked in cautiously. Upon spotting her, it seemed he was about to bolt right back out. To put the boy at ease, Anathema smiled and greeted him.

"Hey, you're Adam's friend, right? He's in the back reading manga instead of working."

Adam shouted from afar, "I'm working! I'm just making sure these are quality books!" Adam peeked around the shelves and beamed at the sight of Warlock. "Hey! There's a box of books here that we're definitely gonna put on shelves and not read."

Warlock laughed and dashed to his friend, both disappearing with mischievous sniggers.

Anathema had a feeling about those two. She smiled and let out a sappy sigh. "Ah, kids."

Noticing that the sound of the engine had not subsided, Anathema grew curious. Last time that boy was in the shop, Crowley had been with him. The witch couldn't put her finger on it, but Crowley and Aziraphale's story was not finished yet. She wondered what the fates had in store as she meandered to the window and peeked outside. What she saw left her confused. Crowley was pacing in front of his car with a paper bag in his hands. It looked like he was arguing with himself. He shook his head, got back in his car, and shut off the engine. Then Crowley got out, straightened out his coat, took two decisive steps toward the door, and made an about-face while flailing an arm. Then he turned around and did it all over again. That time, Anathema had heard his muffled growl.

"What a weirdo," Anathema muttered.

When she saw him repeat his strange behaviour for the third time, Anathema sighed. She walked toward the door, wondering if she was going to regret what she was about to do. Swinging the door open with a withering look, Anathema yelled at Crowley, "Hey Slender Man!"

Crowley spun around and hugged the paper bag to his chest, protectively. "Just get in here before they commit you." She could have told him not to leave his car there to avoid the parking ticket. But what fun would that be?

Nervously, Crowley sauntered past Anathema into the bookshop with a quiet "Thanks."

As soon as Anathema closed the door, she rounded on him and narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"

Crowley let out some aborted words, before finally settling on lifting the paper bag and announcing, "I brought a peace offering. Here." He scrambled to open the bag and gave Anathema a small box of very expensive-looking chocolate.

"I can't be bought," she replied, but also took the box. She nodded her head at the bag. "What else you got there," she asked suspiciously.

Crowley pulled the bag back into his arms and swayed. "It's for Aziraphale."

"Also edible?" she asked with a quirk of her brow.

"Yes."

"Okay, I can give it to him." She reached for the bag.

Crowley jumped back and tightened his hold on his tribute. "I know you don't like me and I know I'm probably not allowed in here anymore, but is there any chance I can give this to him myself?"

Anathema hummed. Her knee jerk reaction was to take the bag and throw him right back out, but there was a nagging whisper in her mind. She shook her head slowly. "Are you right-handed or left-handed?"

Crowley frowned at the question. "Uh, left-handed."

Anathema stuck out her own hand and beckoned, "Let me see it."

Crowley retreated slightly, and a brow peeked over his sunglasses. "Are you gonna cut it off?"

Anathema sighed and snatched his hand, looking at it palm up. "Hmm, interesting."

"Oh yeah? What do you see?"

"I can see that you're very determined - and oh! Oh my! Wow!"

Crowley stepped closer and peered at his own hand. "What? What is it? What do you see?"

Anathema locked his wrist and thumb with both her hands, a move she learned in a self-defence class and pressed Crowley's thumb inward. She spoke over his painful hiss. "I can see that you're an idiot and that you hurt my friend. If I let you go up there and you hurt him again, I will put the head of your Voodoo doll in a panini press."

Crowley baulked. "You have a Voodoo doll of me?"

"No." Anathema dropped his hand, and before he could feel relief, she yanked a red lock off his head. "Not yet."

Crowley was able to suppress a yelp of pain while sending his hand to the tender spot on his head. "Jesus!"

"He won't be able to help you." Anathema pointed to a set of stairs. "Up those steps and to the right."

At that moment, the doorbells chimed as a customer walked in. The witch's demeanour changed in a flash as she turned and welcomed the patron. "Hello, ma'am," she let out on a cheerful lilt as if she had not just committed assault. Anathema stepped away, and Crowley was quick to escape.

With only mild trepidation, because Bookshop Girl was far scarier at that moment than confronting Aziraphale, Crowley went up the stairs.

* * *

Aziraphale was puttering in his kitchen, cane in hand, opening and closing the refrigerator as if new food would magically appear there when he heard a knock at his door. Thinking it was Anathema, he yelled for her to invite herself in. "Door's open. I'm in the kitchen. Blast! I should have done some shopping..." His words trailed off as he caught a flash of black and red in his periphery. He turned slowly, assuring himself it was just a hallucination but was not surprised to see the flash bastard in his living room.

Biting down on his lip, Aziraphale swallowed down some rude words. "What are you doing in my home?"

Crowley was pale and fidgeting when he held up a slightly trembling hand and paper bag. "I heard you were sick. I brought you something. It's not a cold, is it?"

Aziraphale blinked silently for a moment before he resigned himself to another absurd encounter with the serpent. Now that the pills were wearing off, Aziraphale started to feel the guilt over his treatment of Crowley rise to the surface. He hung his head and sighed. "No," he conceded tiredly. "I've had a bad flare-up, and I'm afraid I'm quite useless in this state." He winced, just as he felt another stab of pain.

Crowley nodded and approached slowly. "I'm sure our encounter last night doesn't help things. I'm actually surprised you haven't thrown me out yet, arse first." He smirked, hoping Aziraphale would catch the joke, and by some miracle, Aziraphale smiled. It was a wistful thing, but better than nothing.

"No, it didn't help. And I haven't tossed you out because I owe you an apology. Those things I said, you didn't deserve that."

Crowley shook his head quickly and waved a hand in denial. "No, I definitely did." Crowley took a cautious step forward. "I'm glad it's not a cold, 'cause this won't help with that. When I feel like shit, I indulge in a little comfort food." He walked closer and lifted the bag for Aziraphale to take. "Thought you might too."

Aziraphale looked between the bag and Crowley. He wished he could see his eyes to gauge what the man was thinking. He took the bag and leaned on his refrigerator to take a look inside. What he found nearly made him gasp. "Ice cream," he murmured, stunned.

"I wasn't sure what flavour you liked most, so I went the safe route. It's French Vanilla." Crowley had actually wanted to buy every single flavour just in case, but knew that would be overkill.

Aziraphale suddenly felt the urge to cry. He'd been craving ice cream for a week. "It's beautiful," he whispered reverently.

"What?" Crowley let out on an airy chuckle.

"I mean, thank you," Aziraphale corrected himself and cleared his throat. Since he wasn't feeling murderous toward the man, he was feeling rather calm actually, Aziraphale motioned toward the sofa. "I can serve us both some?"

Crowley looked genuinely shocked. "Okay," he agreed a tad too quickly.

Aziraphale gave him a curt nod and limped toward the cabinet for a couple of bowls. He didn't really know what to say in the awkward silence that ensued. "I'd normally apologise for the mess, but I really don't care to." He could see Crowley reach out to him, as Aziraphale winced and faltered for a moment. Aziraphale caught himself but not one of the bowls.

Crowley was quick to catch it before it shattered on the floor. His glasses fell off in the process, and Aziraphale could see the dark circles around his eyes. So Crowley hadn't slept well either, and it was his fault. He was glued to those expressive amber eyes as Crowley righted himself and tucked his glasses into his coat pocket.

"May I?" Crowley asked gently while pointing at the tub.

Aziraphale blinked away his daze and let Crowley take over. He usually would not have a guest host themselves, but his leg was quickly getting worse. Plus, Aziraphale wanted to study the man while he was occupied. Aziraphale was a perceptive man, and he noticed Crowley was nervous. The barely noticeable tremble was still there, and Aziraphale found that curious. Such a strange man, Aziraphale thought. "Spoons on your left," he instructed as he continued his observation.

"Warlock and Adam are friends again. Adam invited him over. Said I wasn't invited."

"And yet, here you are," said Aziraphale with faux enthusiasm. 

"Heh. Yeah. Well, he said you weren't feeling well and after, well, you know, I was kinda worried." Crowley suddenly wanted to change the topic. He didn't want to upset Aziraphale further by reminding him of how they parted. "Does the knee flare-up a lot?" Crowley asked while he grabbed spoons.

Aziraphale wasn't sure how much he wanted Crowley to know. "Not much anymore, but when it does, it's quite debilitating." He found he didn't mind divulging personal information if it meant he could solve the enigma in his kitchen. "War wound, as you might have guessed by now."

Crowley froze for a moment, his back turned to Aziraphale. He nodded slowly and scooped the dessert into one of the bowls. "Yeah, I wondered. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?" Aziraphale tested.

Crowley only served himself about three spoonfuls while filling the other bowl to the brim for Aziraphale. "Nah. It's personal information. It's not my business, and I don't want to bring up bad memories for you. I've done enough harm, I think." He turned around with a sad smirk and handed Aziraphale his treat.

Aziraphale took it with a quiet "thank you," and led them to the living room to sit. He took his recliner while Crowley sat on the couch. "So, what brings you here this time, Crowley? Trying to get an exclusive to save your job?" Aziraphale flinched at his own words, but Crowley chuckled.

"No, no. I don't work for the paper anymore."

Aziraphale froze just before his spoon reached his mouth. "Oh. They let you go then?" Why was he not happy with the news?

"Nope!" Crowley grinned. "I actually went there this afternoon and I–"

"MMMmmm!" Aziraphale let out a loud and lewd moan with his eyes closed in bliss. "God, that's delicious," he spoke with his mouth full and then swallowed. When Aziraphale opened his eyes, he found Crowley with his mouth open, looking like he might faint. "You all right?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"Eh… yes." Crowley shook off his stupor. "Um, what the hell was I talking about?"

"You said you went to the office?"

Crowley snapped his fingers. "Yes! I quit!"

Aziraphale widened his eyes and drooped. "You did?"

"Yep!"

"Why?" Aziraphale really wanted to know.

Crowley shifted a bit under his gaze. "Well, when someone brings to your attention that you have no soul, it's time to make some life changes," he chuckled with self-depreciation. Crowley gazed at Aziraphale who appeared suddenly crestfallen. "Oh, please don't feel bad," he added quickly. "I'm always wondering if I'm doing the right thing, and this time," he gave Aziraphale a sobering look, "I'm not wondering today."

Aziraphale had to look away. There was something odd in the man's expression that made him blush some. He fiddled with his ice cream, poking it several times with his spoon. "I don't actually believe that, you know? I was just, I was upset before you even sat at my table. I took my frustrations out on you." When he looked back at his guest, he found him with a kind smile.

"He never showed then?" Crowley asked, pursing his lips.

With a sigh, Aziraphale lifted his spoon filled with a generous scoop and ate it. "Mmm–lord this is… mmgh!"

Crowley crossed his legs and bit his lip.  _ Fucking hell _ , he thought, t _ he angel's love for food is downright sinful.  _ It was then that the reality of the moment struck him full force. Sitting right in front of him was Angel, the angel, his angel! And of course, it was Aziraphale. The way he spoke was exactly how he wrote. The kindness he exuded through the computer screen, hung around him like an angelic halo. Shit, he even looked like an angel. The white-blond hair, the eyes that seemed to change colour by the moment. Crowley felt jittery knowing he was a mere coffee table away from his best friend, while Aziraphale sat before his enemy. He almost laughed aloud. The situation was a delicate one. Crowley had no idea how to break the news. His previous determination deflated like a balloon.  _ Shit. _

Aziraphale finished swallowing. "No, he never showed." He was surprised he could say it without bursting into tears. He hadn't told anyone yet, not even Anathema.

"Well, he's a tosser then," Crowley tested.

Aziraphale frowned and shook his head. "No, he's not."

Crowley held his breath.

"We've been chatting online for over a year now. I mean," Aziraphale chuckled, "he is a bit snarky and rude but," it got more difficult to hold himself together, "not to me. Never to me." He sighed and clinked his spoon. "I'm really worried about him," Aziraphale confessed softly. Then he burst into wrenching sobs.

Crowley's eyes nearly popped out of his head.  _ Ohshitohshitohshitoshit!  _ He had no idea what to do but putting his bowl down seemed like a good start. "Aziraphale," Crowley reached out but pulled his hand back. "I'm so sorry."

Aziraphale had one hand over his face, trying to hide his grief and shame. He felt Crowley take his bowl and place it on the table, leaving his hand in his. The contact grounded him some, Crowley's warm, firm hand was actually comforting. "Sorry," he gasped out while wiping his tears away, furiously, with his free hand. Crowley was a bit blurry through his moist eyes, but he could tell the man just wanted to comfort him. He was essentially a stranger, yet Aziraphale could not help but feel this was all normal like they'd done this before. "It's just," Aziraphale continued when he was more composed, "if something horrible didn't happen to him, then the problem is me, you see, and that–that is something that would be difficult to accept. And if something horrible did happen, then I might've lost my dear friend!"

"No, no. It's definitely not you!" Crowley shouted.

Aziraphale startled and stared Crowley kneeling before him. "How do you know?"

Crowley's eyes widened. This was it. This was the moment. "Because you're amazing."

A second passed before Aziraphale scoffed and peered at Crowley with an unconvinced glare. His breath hitched at the genuine affection and admiration on Crowley's face.  _ What the blazes?  _ Aziraphale pulled his hand out of Crowley's grasp and noticed the man's disappointment before he schooled his features. 

"I don't understand you, Mr Crowley." Aziraphale shook his head slowly. Crowley's shoulders slumped. "You've done me great harm. Do you realise that?" He didn't let Crowley answer. "And yet, you say such things. You're either a very good liar, which I think I'd prefer, or you mean it. This…" he motioned at Crowley from head to knees, "duality? You've implied some kind of mental health issues, do you have split personality disorder? Because every time we've met, you seem kind, a decent sort of fellow. But surely, no one who is kind would do what you have done, written the things you've written. Unless," and now Aziraphale really wondered, "well, unless you don't write your own articles?"

Crowley felt like he'd been hit by a shrink-ray. He felt small even when he stood up and took steps back. "I do write them. Did. Not anymore. I don't have split personalities. It's a much simpler answer actually." Crowley hung his head in shame. "I'm a coward. Now, can I make you some tea? I think it'll do you good. Maybe a drop of whiskey in it?"

"More than a drop please," Aziraphale nearly begged. 

Crowley went to the kitchen. Aziraphale yelled out where things were, and Crowley began his task. He started to panic. Now he was sure that Aziraphale would never forgive him. Never. Not unless Crowley managed to befriend him and that would take time. Lots and lots of time. He couldn't confess now, but Aziraphale was suffering a heartbreak. So, instead of Crowley following his heart, he followed his fears and pulled out his phone.

* * *

Staring at the place Crowley had knelt, Aziraphale tried to understand what Crowley had meant. He must have been forced to write the article. "You mentioned that it should have been another book review?" He yelled to be heard.

"Huh?! Oh, yeah."

"Good or bad review?" Aziraphale asked, dreading the answer either way.

"A good one. I really put a lot into that piece, only to be told moments before the deadline that the Editor wanted a… a bad one. One that would 'rip' an author apart, loosely quoting my supervisor."

Aziraphale laughed mirthlessly. "Well, full marks then, because you definitely succeeded."

Crowley poked his head out of the kitchen. "And I will be forever ashamed, Aziraphale. I will apologise for the rest of my life if I have to. I really want to make it up to you somehow. I–" he cut himself off awkwardly and his eyes shifted in their sockets nervously.

"You what?" Aziraphale cocked a brow expectantly. Even with the added distance, he could see Crowley blush. 

"I like you a lot, and it tears me apart inside knowing we could have been friends…" The words "or more" were left unsaid, but it hung almost visibly in the air between them nonetheless. Crowley vanished once more.

Aziraphale nodded and agreed silently. The chemistry between them, right from the start, had been charged with heady potential. It was easier to admit it at that moment for some reason. Why on Earth Crowley would be attracted to him as a sexual partner–no, as a  _ romantic _ partner. Aziraphale mused on that for a moment. If it was just sex he'd wanted, would Crowley be doing all this? No, he didn't think so. Why would anyone want him as a conquest? Crowley must want more than that. He wanted something meaningful. That is precisely what Aziraphale wanted too. 

He thought of the demon and bit his lip to stop it from quivering. Aziraphale hated not knowing what had happened. 

Crowley was the only other man Aziraphale thought had the potential to be a good match for him. Could Aziraphale forgive him? Could he truly overlook Crowley's cowardly error? There was enough doubt for Aziraphale to think it possible but he had no ideas as to the right circumstances for him to get to that point. Did that mean Aziraphale had no self-respect? Time heals all wounds. How much time was Crowley willing to wait? Would he really be that persistent? Aziraphale hadn't been able to get rid of him thus far no matter what he'd said or did to never see Crowley again. The man must  _ really _ want to settle down and must  _ really _ believe Aziraphale to have potential as well. But why? They'd only just met a week ago!

The kettle whistled. Crowley could be heard rummaging around until he walked out of the kitchen with the tea tray. He set it down and sat stiffly on the couch. "Have you ever done something against your values because you felt like you had to?"

Aziraphale fixed Crowley with a pointed stare. He knew where this was going, and the snake was clever to go there. "Of course. I served in a war."

Crowley nodded. "I, uh, I'm very compulsive. My job has been my obsession for a long time. I'm quite rubbish at placing importance on several things at once. I did what I thought I had to do to keep my job. I know it's not the same thing but–"

"I understand." Aziraphale nodded. "But that doesn't change how I feel. I can't make myself–"

"I'm not asking you to change your feelings," Crowley said quickly. "Do you believe in second chances?" Crowley narrowed his eyes. Moment of truth. 

Aziraphale glared at him for a long time. Had he not told the demon that everyone deserves a second chance, especially if that person was trying to right their wrongs? And Crowley was trying. Not succeeding but trying. Aziraphale groaned and rolled his eyes. "Yes, damn you."

"Aziraphale," Crowley cleared his throat nervously as he poured his host's drink, "I don't have many friends–"

"Small wonder," Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley barked a laugh. "Yeah. Do you think you could, what I mean to say is…"

Aziraphale couldn't believe it. Crowley was about to ask him if he could ever move past all this and give him a chance. Maybe the man was not as cowardly as he thought himself to be. "You want to be friends?" It did not sound like a question.

Crowley cringed and waved a hand while sputtering. "Y-yes? Yes. Is there a, erm, a possibility? Anything I can do?"

Aziraphale regarded Crowley quietly and was surprised the fidgety man did not squirm under his scrutiny, it seemed like he wanted to. "I take milk and sugar and just half a shot of whiskey, thank you." He said it like he was addressing a servant. And to his surprise, Crowley jumped right to it. He watched with mild amusement as Crowley furrowed his brow and concentrated hard on his task. Aziraphale noticed Crowley's efficiency and precision, even rearranging everything the exact way he'd presented the tray for the first time, moving things slightly to get it just perfect, whatever perfect was in his mind. The OCD showed itself clearly. Aziraphale took it all in for further scrutiny.

"Here you are," Crowley said quietly.

"Thank you." Aziraphale stared at Crowley while lifting his cup. Crowley's eyes went to his mouth. He watched Crowley as he took a sip. Crowley swallowed audibly after Aziraphale made a soft moan of appreciation. He tried to smother his bemusement. What on Earth did this man see in him to regard him in such a way? Odd, peculiar, nutter. Crowley said he was compulsive, that he was horrible with prioritising several things at the same time. He was obsessed with his job. But then he quit it easily with seemingly no regrets. Could it be Crowley changed from one obsession to another? Is that what he was trying to say? That this potential friendship was more important to him than his job?! How? What?  _ Why _ ? There was Aziraphale, who must look at his worst, waddling around like an old invalid, not hiding his distaste for the ex book critic, and yet, Crowley stuck around. Regardless of everything, Crowley wanted to take his chances and see if he could win Aziraphale over. Something was off, and Aziraphale desperately wanted to find out what it was. "The answer to your question, Mr Crowley, is… I don't know."

Crowley actually lit up. "That's better than no," he beamed.

That smile! It threw Aziraphale completely off-kilter. "Yes, it's better than no, but it's also not a yes. Friendship is earned. Respect is earned. Trust is earned. I have no idea when or if I could ever forgive you. But if you're willing to hold your breath and try to earn those things then, by all means."

"Okay! I think I can do that if you give me that second chance you believe in."

Aziraphale actually laughed in earnest and cut himself off when he noticed. "Right. We'll see in time then." 

That was all Crowley needed. Now he could proceed with his plan. He would earn Aziraphale's friendship again, but this time as Crowley. The man he must hate. If Aziraphale could forgive him as himself, then maybe Aziraphale would still want him when he confessed about his online persona. Crowley waited for Aziraphale to take another drink to discreetly pull out his phone and hit the send button.

A ping sounded off from afar, and Aziraphale nearly dropped his cuppa. "Oh! Goodness!" Aziraphale tried to get up and was quickly reminded of his ailment. It would only be later that he realised he hadn't noticed his pain while talking with Crowley. "That's probably him. Excuse me." He struggled some more when Crowley abruptly stood.

"Where's your phone? I can grab it for you."

"Oh, no, I need my computer. I don't own one of those smart mobiles."

Crowley was not surprised. He smiled. "Of course, you don't. Let me guess, you have a 1998 Macintosh back there?"

"Very funny. This one is new actually! So, there… the 1998 Macintosh is downstairs." Aziraphale growled. "Make yourself useful and grab my laptop.” Crowley dashed to the only other door in the place. "AND DON'T YOU DARE READ IT!" Crowley was swift to exit the room with the laptop and quickly gave it to Aziraphale. 

Crowley just stood there until Aziraphale shooed him away. "You can go now, Mr Crowley. This is a private matter that I would not share with a…" Aziraphale wondered if he'd regret his next words, "civil acquaintance."

Crowley grinned wide and with teeth. "That's a good start. Any chance we can reach the casual friend status soon?"

Aziraphale gave him a withering look. "You go too fast for me, Crowley. Be grateful I put the Civil before acquaintance. Now leave please."

Crowley chuckled. "Until next time, Aziraphale." He left before Aziraphale could respond.

With Crowley gone, it was time to find out what had befallen his demon. Aziraphale held his breath as he maximised the window to his messages.

> _ Angel. I am so sorry I've upset you. I'm sorry I didn't show myself. I did arrive, but I didn't leave because of you. You're more beautiful than I could've imagined. You really are. I left because I saw you with a man at our table. A devilishly handsome fellow, with gorgeous red hair, who must obviously be well off, highly intelligent, and successful. I thought to myself; I could never measure up to that. And I can't measure up to that, angel. I don't have a job anymore, I've done awful things, I'm insecure, and I have issues. Deep-seated issues that I go to therapy for, and take medication for. You don't need all that. I feel awful that I've caused you pain. I was scared of showing myself. I'm a horrible coward, and I can't bear the thought of losing you as a friend because of this, though that's precisely what I deserve. I understand if you never wish to speak with me again. _
> 
> _ Yours, Demon _

"Yours," Aziraphale whispered. "Oh, you idiot"! He slammed the laptop closed. So, Crowley had book-blocked him and now cock-blocked him too. All within a span of a week! But Aziraphale smiled with relief anyway. He decided to wait to respond. It wasn't payback or anything like that, of course not! He certainly wasn't trying to teach the demon a lesson, the cowardly fool!

A knock came at the door. "It's me," called Anathema.

"Come in!"

The witch rushed to Aziraphale's side. "Did Crowley say anything stupid to hurt you again? What did he want?"

Aziraphale looked at his melted dessert and smirked. "He brought me ice cream…"


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WRITER UPDATE: Okay! So, a friend I met in the fandom has offered to edit my novel! And BOY is she THOROUGH! I'm so dang excited! It suddenly feels "too real" you know? lol! Right now I'm researching book covers. If anyone here designs book covers for Erotic Fantasy Novels, then HIT ME UP!!  
> So: Editor? Check! Illustrator? Check! Maybe I should start working on a website... ugh. 
> 
> Short chapter today but I think you'll be happy!!
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalaticsupertwink for the incredible beta work and Brit-picking!
> 
> Art by @joanh_palaty on Insta!

Now that Crowley could put a face to his angel, it was even more difficult to think about anything else. He needed to find work. He knew this, but could not find it in him to care. He also knew that was a problem. All the energy usually spent to curb his less than pleasant habits was going into _not_ upsetting Aziraphale. And that took a _lot_ of energy indeed. It was a good thing he had decent savings. Starting a new career was frightening, but even more frightening was losing Aziraphale, losing his angel. Crowley’s contacts, those still speaking to him, sent him some leads on freelance work he could do while he and Harriet put their heads together to start a business of their own. Harriet took on most of the responsibilities. In between her marketing classes, she was doing research on several different business ventures that would work for both of them. Her ideas so far were fantastic and Crowley thanked his lucky stars that he had his sister.

Harriet confided in him and he liked that a lot, but for Crowley to confide in her was always difficult. Once he started including her into his treatment, he wondered how he had managed without her for so many years. And now? In this whole insane debacle, she was his rock, his handler, his reality check. Harriet had forced her way past his last barriers. She was essential to him. Crowley hoped she could handle it because he was about to lean on her heavily. 

Ha! Who was he kidding? He already had been.

Harriet’s primary rule was to give Aziraphale space. That was the hardest rule, but the most critical. If Crowley had it his way, he’d be throwing pebbles at Aziraphale’s window with a boombox over his shoulder. Anyway, he adhered to that one as much as he could with Warlock wanting to go over every day after school. 

For the rest of the week Crowley had dropped off Warlock at the Bookshop but he never went inside. Instead, Crowley would park somewhere and force his feet in the direction of a coffee shop across the way. 

Harriet had been disappointed in him for not confessing outright to Aziraphale. But he did get her to understand his trepidation about the whole thing. She didn't quite agree but she wasn't nagging him about it anymore. When he met with his therapist and told him the new absurd addition to his story, he suggested Crowley write a book. Maybe he would, because in the wise words of Gwen Stefani, ‘this shit is bananas,’ and it would sell like hotcakes with the romance crowd. Oh, the irony. With a frown, Crowley wondered if his story would have a happily ever after in it. History told him otherwise, but he couldn’t help but hope. He hated hope.

In past relationships, with Crowley’s desperation to be wanted and needed, he’d become highly focused on his lovers to the point where he'd forget or not care about anything else. They all loved the attention at first. Soon enough they’d feel caged and start becoming distant, which only made him cling to them more. They’d begin to keep secrets and lie about who they spent time with or where they were. Only one of them had cheated on him, but he treated the others as if they would as well, checking their texts and emails, following them. It was awful. Crowley finally got help, but it took years to exercise his willpower and change his toxic inner monologue. He hoped he could keep it together this time. He hoped Aziraphale would understand and be willing to accept him. Aziraphale had no qualms about telling Crowley off and setting him straight. He was also a very patient man. That’s what Crowley needed in a partner. He needed someone to love him and not cast him aside when he asked too many questions or needed a little more reassurance on occasion. He needed someone who would tell him he was being too much, but not feel the need to run as far away from him as possible. Crowley had been assured that he could have a healthy, meaningful and intimate relationship. He hoped that was true. Oh, how he hated hope.

Crowley justified his vigil of the bookshop with watching over Warlock. The fact that Aziraphale happened to be the owner of the shop was just a plus. Crowley forced his gaze away from the window and closed his eyes. He knew he was toeing a line he could easily fall over, but Harriet assured him that he was fine as long as he actually worked and didn’t glue his eyeballs to the bookshop’s entrance. 

Crowley had been waiting for the right opportunity to approach Aziraphale. Angel had still not replied to the demon and Crowley was worried. If Aziraphale couldn't forgive Crowley or the demon, then he was in trouble. His brain wanted to protect his heart so badly and put as much distance between him and London as possible but his heart rebelled against that idea. The Serendipity was just too much. It had to mean something! For Crowley to say that was a miracle in and of itself. 

_Focus,_ Crowley reminded himself and began typing away a boring article about boring glass rimmers for a boring bartending magazine. Then a miracle happened. 

_PING!_

Crowley quickly hit the mute button and nearly tipped his coffee cup onto his laptop. There was a message from Angel and his heart was aiming to claw out of his chest.

> _Dear Demon,_
> 
> _I hope you understand my silence over these past few days. I needed time to process your words and be in a better state to reply. I didn’t want to risk saying something I didn’t mean._
> 
> _So, you saw me. I find this most unfair since now you know what I look like but I’m still in the dark about you. Forgive me if I do not believe you find my physique “beautiful.” I’d say you peered at the wrong table but your description of the man (minus the highly intelligent part), in what should have been your seat, tells me you got it right._
> 
> _I don’t enjoy speaking ill of anyone but you should know that I was trying to make that lout leave. That man was A.J. Crowley, the book critic from the Morningstar Paper. We’ve been at odds because he did something quite vile that affected my reputation. I don’t want to get into specifics, but he and I are not friends. You need not worry about “measuring up” to him, because he’s on the lowest possible bar of my esteem. You are a far better man than he, or at least I thought so. I didn’t think you were capable of standing me up. I was almost certain that some tragedy had befallen you. You were right in saying you acted like a coward. But I suppose I also understand your worries. I share them as well. I find it so very hard to believe that you would find me appealing enough to consider me a romantic prospect. Still, I managed to face my fears. But I will not judge too harshly._
> 
> _Assuming you were being honest, why don’t you tell me exactly what you think will make me think less of you. I believe you may find I’ll surprise you._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Angel_

Well, that was hard for Crowley to swallow. Lout. Aziraphale thought of him as a lout. Crowley was on the lowest bar of his esteem. “Shit,” Crowley breathed. 

In the middle of this thesis-like reply–

“I’ve been wondering where you hole yourself up while waiting for your nephew.”

Crowley’s whole body went rigid. He looked up from his screen to find Aziraphale peering at him suspiciously. Crowley chuckled nervously, closing the tab to the forum. “So, you’ve been thinking of me?” Crowley said with a sly grin. He laughed when Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered with annoyance. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Already bought one.” Aziraphale inhaled deeply. “May I?” Aziraphale pointed to the chair in front of Crowley.

Crowley all but threw everything off his table. “Y-yeah. Of course.” Aziraphale hooked his cane on the chair and sat only a bit stiffly.

“How’s the knee today?” Crowley inquired, pleased as punch to have his angel sitting so close.

Aziraphale appeared surprised. “Oh, much better, thank you.” He shifted his seat looking embarrassed. “Writing, are we?” He nodded towards Crowley’s computer. “You type like you have twenty fingers. Something interesting?”

Crowley grew warm at once. “N-no. Not really.” He must have looked guilty because Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Are you writing another one of those awful reviews?”

Crowley gasped and began to stammer. “What? N-no! Not at all! I told you, I don’t do that anymore. It’s just - it’s not interesting, really. I’m-I’m writing about rimming.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows nearly disappeared entirely. “ _Excuse_ me?” He let out on a laugh he could not stifle.

“What? OH! Fuck! No. Not _that_ kind of rimm–! Rimming glass–glass rimming–rimmers! Glass. Rimmers. For glasses. At bars. You know the things you use to put salt on margaritas or sugar on…” Crowley cut himself short at seeing Aziraphale cover his wide smile, which was a crying shame. At least he could still see his angel’s merry, crinkly eyes mocking him. 

They both unsuccessfully smothered their joint burst of laughter, which turned to snorts and sniggers. 

“Here you are, Mr Fell.” The girl from the register placed a cup of hot cocoa with a mountain of whipped cream in front of him, killing the moment entirely.

“Ahem! Thank you, Sandra.” Aziraphale graced her with a polite smile and composed himself. “So, Mr Crowley, does this mean you found work?” With absolutely no shame, Aziraphale swiped at the cream with his finger and placed it in his mouth.

Crowley tried to speak but his brain went offline until Aziraphale finished his task. “My sister and I are going to start a business together,” he let out hoarsely.

Aziraphale was genuinely surprised. With raised eyebrows and an inquisitive look, Aziraphale took the bait. “What kind of business?”

“I'm not exactly sure yet, but we’re leaning towards a nursery.”

Aziraphale nearly spat his drink out. “For children?”

“Oh, good God, no! I mean, I like kids but no,” Crowley laughed. “I mean a plant nursery or maybe a flower shop. Harriet is doing some market research before deciding.”

“Harriet is your sister?”

“Yeah.”

“I must admit, I'm quite surprised. Going from journalism to owning a flower shop or nursery?”

Crowley straightened up and shrugged. “Well, I still plan to write. Whatever we decide, I’ll be in charge of our blog and newsletter along with running the shop and tending the plants for the first year, until we can hire someone. Harriet will deal with the books and marketing. I like the idea a lot actually. I'd be able to do two things I enjoy and at my own pace. Sounds a little too good to be true, to be honest.”

Looking at Crowley like he was a newly discovered species, Aziraphale took a sip of his cocoa. He licked his upper lip and thoughtfully dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “So, you enjoy writing and… _gardening_?”

Crowley smiled. The conversation was going well and he couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot. “I only have a small atrium in my flat, but yeah. Next to reading, watching movies, and stargazing, it’s my next favourite hobby. It’s peaceful. And I don’t have to worry about the plants enjoying my company.”

Aziraphale chortled but also looked like he regretted doing it. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.” He considered Crowley silently while he drank his cocoa.

“What about you?” Crowley asked while leaning in a bit. “What do you enjoy doing in your free time?”

Aziraphale smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I don’t have many hobbies. I read quite a lot and occasionally go see a live performance I think I might enjoy. Plays mostly. And… well,” he gave Crowley a pointed stare, “I wrote a book.”

Crowley pursed his lips and sighed. “I walked right into that one.”

“You did.” Aziraphale nodded. “Other than that, I’m afraid I’m quite your average, boring, over the hill man.” he chuckled mirthlessly, a hint of embarrassment in his expression.

“I don’t find you boring at all.” Crowley shifted and looked away for a moment before adding, “quite the opposite.” He wished he’d taken off his sunglasses so Aziraphale could see how much that was true.

With a blush and quick drum of his fingers, Aziraphale stood, took his cup and cane, and nodded at Crowley. “I better get back before teenage hormones set fire to the shop.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “You noticed it too, huh?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes affectionately. “Who could miss it?”

They stared at one another for a silent and companionable moment before Aziraphale began to walk away. “Nice chat, Mr Crowley. Until next time,” he called softly over his shoulder and left.

Crowley could have jumped up and danced a jig right there. His cheeks hurt and burned from joy. That had been a good talk. Aziraphale had asked him questions about his hobbies and work! But the best part of it all was when Aziraphale said: “Until next time.”

There would be a next time, and Crowley could hardly wait. Now it was the demon’s turn to smooth things over. 

Crowley placed his laptop back on the table and opened it. Whatever he wrote, it had to be perfect. Crowley opened a new document and hit the keys.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: That bartending article was from real life! Some years ago, a magazine bought one of my blog articles about Glass Rimmers. Why did I have a blog post about that? Because I used to own an online bartending school! lol Got paid well for that article actually. lol


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am going to be KIND to you ALL by saying...
> 
> WARNING: mentions of PTSD, OLD, RAD, PPD, implications of child neglect, small panic attack, angst, and CLIFFHANGER.
> 
> As soon as this chapter is posted, I am diving into starting chapter 15! So, I'm sure you won't have to wait long!  
> Been posting pretty frequently but I completely understand if you decide to wait until the next chapter. 
> 
> Art by Joanh Palaty. NEW ART in chapter 2, 4, and 13

> _Dear Angel,_
> 
> _I can't stand the thought that I've caused you so much pain. I'm sorry that the man you were conversing with was lousy company. Whatever he did to earn your scorn I have no doubt it's well deserved. I hope you are feeling better, and that whatever he did to hurt you can be fixed._
> 
> _You mentioned you wrote a book. I'm incredibly proud of you! That is quite a feat. Does your low esteem of him have anything to do with that? Of course, you don't have to answer that. Maybe I'm just stalling about telling you things about myself._
> 
> _What do I believe will make you think less of me? Oh, so many things. I suppose there's no harm in telling you some of them. Not many know this about me, but I have a disorder that has made maintaining any kind of relationship difficult. I'm not trying to scare you away, but if you really do want to meet in the future, then I suppose you should know these things beforehand. I don't want to give you the impression that I am one thing when I'm really another._
> 
> _I was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder as a child. It's a condition found mostly in orphaned children and the like. In my case, it was because my parents separated right after I was born, and my mother had postpartum depression. You can go ahead and do your research, but I can tell you right now that this has lasting effects. At least for me it has. I have trouble connecting with others. And when I do connect with someone, I become very attached. I cannot stress that part enough. As I grew older, my RAD evolved into an Obsessive Love Disorder._
> 
> _At this point, whoever I confide in starts to look at me differently. I don't blame you if you do._
> 
> _I've never hurt anyone, at least I can say that. But once I have my heart set on someone, they become my whole world. That may sound romantic, but I can assure you it has many drawbacks. Do your research, Angel, and then tell me if you think this is something to take lightly. You may surprise me with compassion, but I've always thought you were a kind person. I know you'll let me down easy. But until you know everything, I can't risk getting too close to you. I already feel so much. I don't want to lose you as a friend. I can understand if you'd rather cease contact altogether._
> 
> _Yours, Demon_

Aziraphale had indeed done his research. What he found made him feel many things. Sympathy was one of those. It was so sad that his friend experienced such loneliness as a child. The obsessive love disorder was a bit daunting to read about, and Aziraphale decided he needed time to ruminate on that. He wanted to ask the demon for specifics. But before that, Aziraphale resolved to learn as much as he could about the subject. 

Aziraphale sat on his favourite bench at the park and contemplated everything he had learned. Someone with obsessive love disorder could be overly jealous, controlling, possessive. The demon was right. It was not something to take lightly, but the demon had also mentioned he was going to therapy and taking medication. So maybe the demon had a better handle over his issues than he gave himself credit for. It wasn't as if Aziraphale didn't have his own problems. Many romantic prospects had kept him at arm's length because of his own disorder and chronic pain. He could understand the demon's trepidation very well. Maybe it was for the best that they did not meet right away and got to know each other better online.

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and Aziraphale waited for the rest of his party to arrive. On the second Sunday of every month, there was a potluck. Diedre had organised it along with some of the other parents from Adam's school. There were times Aziraphale opted out, but the park that had been chosen was close enough to his flat, and he needed the fresh air, and, well, tasty homemade food. Unfortunately, there was an unruly birthday gathering not far off from their spot ruining his peace. Small children screeched and whined, making Aziraphale's ears bleed.

Aziraphale wondered if he'd be seeing Crowley since Warlock and Adam were practically inseparable now. No new developments there as far as Aziraphale noticed. The boys were just friends, but Aziraphale and Anathema both had a feeling that the status could change at any moment.

Crowley was another thing to ponder on. The last encounter he had with the ex-book critic had not been unpleasant, surprisingly. Aziraphale had even laughed. He hadn't laughed that hard in what felt like ages. The way Crowley flustered always filled Aziraphale with fondness that was hard to snuff out completely. How can such a vile man blush so prettily? In moments like that, the lout could not hide his vulnerabilities or insecurities. It was easy to see that Crowley admired him, which confused the hell out of Aziraphale. 

He internally cursed both Crowley and the demon. They had turned out to be entirely idiotic. Aziraphale's mood never soured for too long, though. There might still be a chance with the demon, he thought. Crowley, on the other hand, would be lucky to reach that casual friendship he mentioned.

Soon enough, people began to arrive. The first thing the children did when Adam came was to make a beeline for the ice cream cart. The adults exchanged pleasantries and unpacked the food. 

After about fifteen minutes, Aziraphale found himself looking out for an old, black Bentley. He told himself he was just still annoyed with the man and was worried about running into him. Maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale allowed himself to think it was because he enjoyed the attention. He never had anyone grovel for friendship before. It felt nice. Perhaps it shouldn't have, but Aziraphale was not about to feel guilty for feeling like he had a bit of power over the fiend.

As if on cue, the Bentley rolled up to park.

It took Aziraphale by surprise to see a woman get out of the car. A pretty lady with a lovely sense of style. Aziraphale frowned. So, Crowley brought a date to a potluck he was only indirectly invited to. The cad. 

Warlock finally emerged looking very excited, but as soon as he began to walk towards his friends, he schooled his features and began a leisurely stroll toward his friends. The walk was not as flamboyant as his uncle's, but it was apparent he was trying to go for a cool demeanour.

Crowley came out of the driver seat, dressed all in black and wearing his sunglasses as usual. And there was that walk. Aziraphale tried not to ogle at the ridiculous swagger, but those hips could draw anyone's attention.

Deidre walked up to Aziraphale. "Oh, drat. I'm so sorry, Aziraphale. We hoped he wouldn't come."

Aziraphale's frown deepened. He didn't need to be coddled. "Nothing to forgive, dear. I'm not saying I've moved past it, but for the sake of the children, Crowley and I have reached a ceasefire. Plus, the man still holds the key to my success if there is any to be had." 

Diedre was stunned. "Really? You're thinking of letting him–"

The other parents flanked Aziraphale and began talking over one another. "Do you want us to kick him out?" "I can't believe you would show up here!" "The nerve." "Someone should go key his car."

Embarrassed beyond anything, Aziraphale shushed everyone and begged them to be civil at the same time Crowley's lady friend walked right up to him and stuck out her hand. 

"You must be Aziraphale!" she exclaimed with a strange smile.

Aziraphale shook her hand and plastered a polite smile on his face. "I must be." Her grip was ironclad, and her shake made him feel like an earthquake had struck.

"Harriet Dowling! I'm Warlock's brother - I mean mother! Crowley's brother– _my_ brother. I'm his sister." 

"Ah!" Aziraphale nodded and ignored his odd sense of relief. Harriet was just as bizarre as her brother, apparently. She continued to hold his hand captive, nearly cutting off his circulation.

"Harriet, you're gonna tear his arm off," Crowley gritted out. 

Harriet let go immediately but continued to stare up Aziraphale like he was some kind of rare piece at a museum. "I've heard so much about you," she let out on a peculiar giggle.

"No, you haven't," Crowley intervened by dragging Harriet back and away from Aziraphale.

Maybe she was tipsy, Aziraphale guessed.

"Hullo, Aziraphale," Crowley said through a forced smile. "Alright, sister mine, go mingle. Call me when you're ready." 

Crowley gave her a light push, and Harriet walked toward the other parents with her eyes still glued to Aziraphale until she had to crane her neck to keep looking at him. Diedre finally called her attention.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a quizzical smirk. "So, that's your sister."

"Yep." Crowley rocked on his heels and nodded. There was an awkward silence before Crowley broke it. "Guess I'll head out then. Just wanted to say hi." He swayed a bit and nodded curtly when Aziraphale did not respond. "Okay. Hi. Bye."

Aziraphale tried not to laugh at him. The awkward creature was still ramrod and having trouble forcing himself to leave. "Where are you off to, Mr Crowley?"

"Hm? Eh, dunno. Was just gonna find a place to sit and type." He shrugged.

Aziraphale could practically taste the hope the man was exuding. _Interesting._ "Is the deadline soon approaching?"

Crowley shook his head. "Nah. It's an easy piece. Won't take long and the deadline isn't until next week."

"Well then," Aziraphale nodded toward the picnic area. "Why don't you stay and enjoy your time with your family? There's plenty of food to go around." Crowley beamed, and it nearly knocked Aziraphale over. _Good heavens._

"I could eat."

After that exchange, Crowley mostly stuck to his sister's side but kept sneaking glances at Aziraphale. He remembered the way Crowley stared at him while sucking the cream off his finger and smirked evilly. He was about to dive into a small piece of cake with the worst intentions when the unruly group of children started fighting over some balloon animals. It didn't really catch Aziraphale's attention until one child viciously tore the balloon out of the other's hand and popped it with a twig he'd been holding.

Aziraphale didn't hear the pop of a balloon. No. What he heard was a shot from a gun.

The wailing little boy who'd lost his prize grew angry and returned the favour. The second pop tore through Aziraphale's brain until he couldn't see or hear anything else but gunfire and screaming. His breath quickened as did his heart. Adrenaline rushed through his body, and he broke into a cold sweat.

...

...

"Aziraphale, take a deep breath through your nose, count to four, and let it out through your mouth. Come on. In... hold... come on, try again. You can do it. In... that's it–hold it. Good. Now out through your mouth. Once more... good... again... Do you smell the pond over there? Disgusting, isn't it? Too many ducks shitting all over the place I think."

With that, Aziraphale's vision cleared. A pair of smiling but nervous amber eyes stared back at him. Crowley was crouched before him, so very close. He could smell the pond, but he could also smell Crowley's aftershave, and whatever hair product was holding his flaming locks in place. Handsome. Smelled nice. Very manly. 

"Aziraphale?" Crowley ventured. 

"Is anyone looking?" Aziraphale let out on a shaky breath.

Crowley peered around. "Um, people are starting to notice something's up–"

"Get me out of here. Now."

Crowley picked up Aziraphale's cane that had fallen to the ground and offered his arm. Aziraphale was too frazzled to stop himself from taking it. "Where to?"

"The shop." Aziraphale vaguely heard Crowley call out to his sister about giving him a ride home. At some point, he realised he was in a car going much too fast for his liking. Then he was sitting in the shop. The familiar smell of the books and their wooden shelves grounded him further until Aziraphale felt he could think again. He blinked and looked around. He was alone. Of course, he was alone. He was always alone. Crowley had to go back to his family and–

"I got it," Crowley muttered while coming into view with a mug. "Here you go." 

The cup in Aziraphale's hands brought the room into sharper focus. "You're still here."

Crowley frowned. "I can leave, but–"

"No, that's all right," Aziraphale said quickly and softly. "Thank you." Crowley nodded and sat in front of him. Without thinking, Aziraphale took a sip of what he thought might be tea or water but ended up being whiskey. The burn down his throat made him shudder, but the shock of it made him feel more stable. Now that he was in control again, Aziraphale blushed with shame. "What you must think of me," he chuckled mirthlessly. 

"Hasn't changed one bit." 

Aziraphale chanced a look at Crowley's face and saw nothing but calm assurance. A creak drew his attention to Crowley's hands that were gripping the armrests so hard that his knuckles were white. It was a complete contrast to Crowley's poised attitude. Crowley must have noticed because he let go of the chair and pulled out his phone. "Just sending a quick text to Harriet..."

Aziraphale continued to watch him. There was nothing awkward about Crowley now. He was composed and collected, his hands were not trembling, and he was sitting straight. He typed away on his fancy phone with such speed, it made Aziraphale wonder if he was really texting at all. 

"Shot," Aziraphale uttered quietly.

Crowley snapped his gaze up to meet Aziraphale's. He put his phone down and leaned forward. "You don't have to tell me," he assured gently.

"With my own gun." 

Crowley furrowed his brow. "You shot yourself?"

"No." Aziraphale took another sip of his whiskey. "There was a young man, a boy really. I don't think he was much older than Adam. He was trying to lead his family out of the skirmish. I believe the woman with him was his mother, I'm not sure, but she was pregnant. I couldn't leave so I," he laughed quietly, "I gave him my gun and sent them off.”

"You what?"

Aziraphale nodded. "I gave it away. And then he shot me." He scoffed with a wistful smile. "I'm not sure whether it was accidental or not, but he looked terrified after."

"Then what happened?" Crowley was on the edge of his seat, eyes wide and hands balled into fists.

"Oh, they ran off. I got treated and was sent home." 

"Fucking hell," Crowley murmured in awe, "you really are an angel."

It was almost as if someone had stopped time, both of them were frozen in place. Aziraphale's tongue darted out to wet his lips before he whispered.

"What did you just call me?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I can handle all this LOVE! T^T  
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the kudos, comments! 
> 
> 7 chapters have gone through the first pass of editing! This book will be done in no time! AAHHhhh!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!!!
> 
> Art below by @Joahn_Palaty on Instagram!

_ Shit. Oh shit. Fuck. Shit-fuck!  _

"Hm? What? What did I say?" Crowley shifted nervously in his chair.

His angel's dazed expression had disappeared in an instant. Aziraphale looked utterly sober and incredibly stiff. "Angel. You just called me an angel." He still hadn't moved a muscle.

"Did I?" Crowley itched to tug on his collar but remained as still as possible.

"You did."

"Out loud?"

There was a slight raise to Aziraphale's brow. "Yes."

The truth was the best course of action, obviously. Crowley swallowed audibly. "Ah. Well, this is embarrassing." He chuckled and felt his face heat exponentially fast.

It appeared that Aziraphale was waiting for Crowley to say more, but Crowley felt like someone had welded his mouth shut. Aziraphale crossed one leg over the other and forced a relaxed posture. "Why did you call me that?"

The truth... flew out the window and joined a migration south. "I looked up your name," he blurted. "It's very uncommon. Couldn't find it, so I tried to make sense of the root words. I was curious."

"Really?" Aziraphale shrugged. "And what were your findings that led to  _ angel _ ?"

"Well, very Hebrew sounding... Zebadiah means Gift from God. Aza means healer. And Raphale comes from Rafa'el, who is an angel, which means God heals. Healing Gift of God. Very angelic, that. So... yeah... Sorry if I made you uncomfortable." He cleared his throat and tried to smile.

There was a long silence before Aziraphale looked to the door of his office with what appeared to be longing. "My friend calls me that. The man who stood me up."

"Oh? I see." Crowley played as dumb as he could. "Why? Same reason?"

Aziraphale sniffed and turned back to Crowley. "No. My username has angel in it."

Crowley smiled and nodded. "I guess you already knew all that about your name, did you?"

Aziraphale nodded back. "It's not why I chose it. I used to love crepes, you see. The best ones were from my youth—a lovely little stand called Angel Crepes."

That was news to Crowley, so his surprise read authentic at that moment at least. "You don't like crepes anymore?"

"Oh, I would," Aziraphale sighed dramatically, "but that stand no longer exists. The only others that come close are in Paris. It's been years since I've visited. Got arrested," he chuckled. "It soured my experience, and I've never gone back."

Crowley laughed openly and shook his head. "You? Arrested? I can't even picture it. What for?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and air quoted. " _ Rowdy behaviour _ . I was three sheets to the wind and somehow ended up smack in the middle of a riot that, to this day, I have no idea how or why it started. And my French is atrocious. I thought I was yelling 'I did no wrong', but in actuality, I was shouting 'I did not eat the parfait.'"

They both cackled until Aziraphale placed a hand on his belly, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Crowley fared no better and was internally horrified at his high-pitched dolphin screeches but couldn't stop. 

They finally came down from their hysterics until there was an awkward silence. Crowley's eyes met Aziraphale, and his breath hitched. There was a shrewdness to his eyes that made him squirm. "I should go. Got to pick up–"

"Of course." Aziraphale smiled politely and stood.

"Oh, you don't have to..." Crowley's words trailed off when Aziraphale stuck out his hand. He stared at it for far too long, but finally, Crowley placed his hand in Aziraphale's patiently waiting one.

Aziraphale's hand was warm and smooth, only the slightest bit calloused that no one else would have noticed. His grip was firm as he initiated the friendly shake, and his fingers grazed against Crowley's as Aziraphale slowly slipped his hand free. Somehow, Crowley managed not to shudder at the intense sense of pleasure that coursed through him.

"Warlock does excellent work here by the way. I never mentioned that. Please pass that along to Harriet." Aziraphale gave Crowley a half-smile and walked him to the door.

Crowley had been left dumbfounded and could only communicate in gibberish. Before Crowley could go through the door, Aziraphale spoke again.

"I have plenty of space in my office," he pointed to the back room. "I'm sure it would do far better than a noisy coffee shop, if you prefer a more quiet place to work that provides free beverages."

Crowley's mouth dropped open and snapped shut several times before something that sounded like "sounds nice" came forth between odd grunts and slurs.

Crowley could have sworn Aziraphale looked at his lips before meeting his eyes with a smirk. "Thank you for today," he nearly whispered, "casual friend. Until tomorrow."

_ Oh, my stars...! Kiss him. Kiss. Him.  _ "Yer-huh," Crowley nodded. "Teeyasomorrow.  _ See _ ... you... tomorrow. Yep. Bye." Crowley had been so flustered that he forgot to saunter.

Aziraphale planted himself at the entrance and watched Crowley leave. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "What are you doing, Aziraphale?" He couldn't find an answer, so he turned around and went back inside.

When Crowley arrived home, there was a message waiting for him. He trembled like the leaves on his plants while he read what he was sure would be an awful letdown.

> _ Dear Demon, _
> 
> _ I've thought a lot about your last correspondence. I did do my research, and I can see why you are so frightened about possibly starting a new relationship. You do want commitment, do you not? That's what I want. If that’s not what you have in mind, then let's not waste our time. Friendship is always on the table, regardless. You are very dear to me, and I would be devastated to lose you as well.  _
> 
> _ If you share my same desire, then let's put everything on the table. You've divulged very personal information. I appreciate your honesty and how forthcoming you've been about your concerns. It's very mature and brave, but I am no stranger to trauma. You should know about mine as well.  _
> 
> _ I was medically discharged from the army. In other words, I'm a disabled veteran. I was shot right in the knee and had to go through extensive physical therapy once they put screws and rods in my leg. Because of this, I endure chronic pain on a daily basis. There are days it's bearable, and others when it's not. I have to use a cane most of the time. As you can imagine, I have PTSD and suffer from occasional panic attacks. I'm Forty-three. I'm out of shape. I'm mostly a hermit and have few hobbies that anyone would deem interesting.  _
> 
> _ My romantic partnerships have always been fleeting because of my issues. You should take the time to consider them. I would hate to add on to your problems. I too, have had help along the way. I know first-hand that such issues can be overcome with proper care and support. As of right now, I am still not dissuaded to meet you. I will not pressure you into anything, however, so the ball is in your court on that matter. _
> 
> _ How is your treatment going? If we move forward, how can we work together to make sure we avoid falling back into old habits? When you've answered, I will reciprocate. Advise me on how I can help you, and I'll tell you how you can assist me. Maybe some kind of action plan is in order to put us both at ease. _
> 
> _ What do you say? _
> 
> _ Your friend, _
> 
> _ Angel _

By the end of it, Crowley was sobbing, and he didn't think he could stop. Aziraphale had been well-named. He really was an angel of healing, and he wanted to heal with Crowley.  _ With the demon, _ Crowley corrected himself. He could not let the angel slip through his fingers. Crowley had never felt so loved and accepted as he did at that moment. Aziraphale was willing to understand him, ready to learn how to make things work. Who knew that such rotten luck could lead to a literal blessing in disguise?

"Now how to fix it?" he rasped. Because he desperately needed to fix every stupid thing he'd done so far.

* * *

There were hardly any customers on Monday, so Aziraphale didn't have to make himself scarce. He was in complete view when Warlock entered the shop with his uncle in tow.

"Good afternoon, Warlock," Aziraphale greeted the boy enthusiastically. His demeanour became more subdued when he acknowledged the boy's uncle but was no less sincere. "Hello, Crowley." 

"Hey." Crowley greeted back and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

Aziraphale stood and walked around the till so there was no barrier between them. "Good to see you both."

Warlock stared at him in disbelief. "Really?  _ Both _ of us?"

Crowley gave his nephew a small shove and leaned into his ear. "Just go find your boyfriend, will you?" he groused.

"Would you  _ shut up _ ?" Warlock hissed quietly. He was scarlet by the time he had the nerve to walk away. 

Aziraphale followed Warlock with his eyes, shaking his head fondly. When looked back at Crowley cocked a brow. "Think he'll find the courage to come clean?"

Crowley's eyebrows shot over his spectacles. "I think so. In time."

Aziraphale smiled. "In time," he murmured back. "Come, I'll show you where you can set up comfortably." He didn't need the cane, and his limp was barely noticeable. "Voila!" He opened his arms wide and beckoned Crowley into the back room. "Sofa, desk, clutter and biscuits. Did I mention clutter?"

Crowley sniggered and looked around. It was an OCD nightmare. The area could have been spacious, but it felt a bit cramped with all the books, papers, and the enormous sofa. Crowley spotted the old computer and grinned. "It's perfect." Because it screamed Aziraphale, smelled like Aziraphale, it was perfect.

"Woops!" Aziraphale abruptly picked up a neatly arranged stack of papers. "You're not allowed to see these." He lifted his nose and hugged his manuscripts to his chest.

"Your book!"

"Yes."

"Let me read it?"

"Nooooo."

"I thought we were friends now?" Crowley pouted.

Aziraphale lifted a finger to correct him. "I said, casual friend. That's only one step above acquaintance."

"Okay." Crowley swayed in a way he thought was sexy but just made him look drunk. "What stage do I have to be in before you let me read your book?"

Aziraphale made a dramatic show of thinking by placing a finger on his chin and squinting skyward. "Hmm. The next step would be close friends–if we even make it that far. Nope. It would definitely have to be at the Intimate stage."

Crowley thought he blacked out for a moment. "What?"

Aziraphale looked as innocent as a puppy when he said "Intimate friendship." He took a slow step toward Crowley. "It's the final and most committed stage of friendship." He took another step. "What children call  _ best _ friends?" The next step brought him into Crowley's personal space. "At which point, we would share everything together." The final step almost put them nose to nose. "We divulge our most  _ intimate _ secrets without the worry of judgement," he murmured. 

With mounting dread, Crowley wondered if Aziraphale knew that he was the demon. "Oh. Yeah. Makes sense."

"Well!" Aziraphale brightened and wiggled in place. "I'll leave you to it!" 

_ Fuck, _ thought Crowley.  _ Fuck. _

Aziraphale walked out of the office to find Anathema with a smug grin. "You're late for work," Aziraphale noted and brushed past her with his own pleased smile.

Anathema was on his heels in less than a second. "You were totally flirting with Crowley! What?! Why?!"

Placing his manuscripts in a safe spot from prying eyes, Aziraphale, turned to her and sighed. "He's been trying so hard, but yesterday," he smiled, remembering how Crowley had basically rescued him, "let's just say I noticed a side to him that made me see him in a different light."

"What about the demon?" she whispered.

Aziraphale bit his lip and glanced briefly at the backroom entrance before he leaned closer to Anathema. "To be determined," he whispered. "We're trying to gauge if things can work out between us. In the meantime, I might have myself a little fun!" he waggled his eyebrows and grinned wickedly. 

Yes, Aziraphale was overdue for some fun. If Crowley wanted to play, then Aziraphale was more than willing to reciprocate.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POLL: Do you think Aziraphale knows? Or is Crowley just paranoid? 
> 
> Better click on my username and hit that SUBSCRIBE button now because I'm NOT done with these husbands! I have another au in mind (a la beauty and the beast)! :D
> 
> Don't have an ao3 account but want one? I've got some invitations available!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: LIME!
> 
> I guess my meds are working because I should be hating life and in bed right now but I am having a very, very good morning! It was only one day of the PMDD symptoms so far! That is a huge relief.
> 
> Book update: Since I last I posted, 7 chapters have gone through the first pass of editing.
> 
> We've got some more art by Joanh Palaty from Instagram in this chapter!
> 
> A huge thank you to Azeran, Intergalaticsupertwink and Danypooh for catching my blunders and giving me feedback. This was a tough chapter write!

_Dear Angel,_

_I don't know if I'll be able to find the right words to express how much your last message means to me. Most would have run by now. Most would have just pictured Penn Badgley from YOU and bolted. I'm almost sure you have no idea who or what I'm talking about, since you don't watch telly. I also know you are not most people._

_I absolutely want commitment. And my treatment is going well. I go to therapy once a month, sometimes twice, depending on how I feel. I always take my medication. Awareness is vital, honestly. But I also haven't been in a committed relationship since before I started therapy. I hope I've exercised my willpower enough to do right by you._

_I know my way around panic attacks, believe me. My whole life is just one, big, cosmic panic attack. However, because I'm a bit predisposed to be protective (a nice way of putting it), that always trumps whatever I've got going on in my busy head. So, you haven't scared me off yet either, angel. I honestly don't think you can._

_How can we make things work? How can you help me?_

_First thing: know that I am not your responsibility. I don't want you to feel like my issues are in any way your problem or your fault._

_Boundaries: I need to know exactly what your boundaries are. It needs to be clear, or I'll find a way to justify doing what I shouldn't—just being honest. But if you set a clear boundary, I will respect that._

_Consequences: If I do cross a boundary, stick to your guns. Tell me I'm a shit. Tell me to fuck off somewhere until I get my head on straight. Be strict. Bring my bullshit to my attention and know that it's not you; it's me. Maybe we can have a code word whenever you think I'm about to fuck up or I'm too much._

_Independence: I won't want it, so it would be very helpful if you kicked me out the door (nicely) to visit friends, family, see a movie... remind me not to lose touch with other loved ones or myself._

_Reassurance: Just talk to me. Don't leave me in the dark, especially if something is bothering you about me. I'll catastrophise. Let me know how you feel even if you think it'll hurt me. Encourage me to do the same (not my forte). If I ask for too much reassurance, just tell me. Physical shows of affection are something I will probably want the most. Ugh, fine, I'll say it... I'm a cuddle bug. Spooning is my life's blood. Hugs, kisses... other more intimate things._

_Patience: I mess up a lot, angel. But I do learn... eventually._

_Those are all the big ones. Tired yet? It's a lot, angel. Don't be afraid to drop me like a hot potato if you think you need to. I'll survive. I have support, so you won't have to take me and my mess all by yourself. You can ALWAYS approach my therapist or family._

_If you think you can handle all that, then I'd love to know what I can do for you._

_Yours, Demon_

* * *

It was a hot day at the festival. Warlock insisted on wearing all black. It was his preferred choice of casual clothing, nothing to do with his uncle's style _at all_ . Adam would be there soon, and Warlock wanted to make a good impression. Not because he had a _crush_ on Adam or anything like _that_. He just wanted to make sure his friends knew he was cool enough to hang out with them. These days, Warlock had never been happier. He had great friends, was doing well in school, and his uncle had stopped pissing everybody off.

Things at home were finally feeling normal, or at least better than how things used to be. His mother seemed so much happier now, which really made things different for him as well. Warlock would hate to admit it out loud, but he was damn proud of his mother. Not that he hated his father, whose words and promises meant nothing to Warlock now, but his parent's relationship had been toxic. He hadn't understood the term until he’d recognised how much better life could be when certain _issues_ were out of the picture. Sometimes his mother seemed lonely and sad, but it was nothing compared to their life back in America. 

Warlock remembered his childhood in London being so happy. His uncle had been more of a father to him than Tad, and Warlock was glad to be back. Here, even with as many rainy days as there were, things seemed brighter. And maybe that had something to do with the golden, happy boy that was able to recognise something special in him. 

Warlock waited for Adam and his uncle waited for Aziraphale. Uncle A.J. had been weird all morning.

"I don't think he's going to show up, Harriet. It's scorching, and there's a lot of walking to do here."

"Stop being a weirdo, uncle A.J," Warlock muttered, his head turning back and forth like an owl.

"Warlock, don't talk to your uncle like that," Harriet scolded. "And stop being weird, Anthony. Send him a text and ask him what he's up to. And you really got to confess. This has gone on way too long."

With his ears perked up, Warlock stayed quiet. Adults always thought children never listened.

Crowley shushed his sister. "Would you be quiet? Warlock's right there."

"Don't worry, he never listens to anything."

Crowley scoffed. "Kids listen to everything, Harriet. Believe me."

Damn... Now Warlock would have to speak up. "Confess to what uncle A.J.? Did you do something stupid again?"

"See?" Crowley glared at his sister. He turned to Warlock. "No. Not again." Because that was sort of true–It was all part of the first fuck up.

Warlock smirked at Crowley. "I knew it! You have a crush on Adam's uncle!"

"I do not!" Which was sort of true because Crowley didn't have a crush, he was arse over tits in love with the man. "Why is it so bloody hot?!" Crowley snarled and pulled on his shirt.

"Take off that stupid jacket, and maybe you'd feel better," Harriet condescended.

"No."

At that moment, Adam’s happy voice could be heard. "Warlock, over here!"

Warlock was too late to remember not to run over to the boy like a lovestruck fool. Brian, Wensleydale and Pepper were already there arguing about witches and the Spanish Inquisition. 

* * *

Crowley was feeling a little more anxious than usual. Aziraphale's absence dampened his mood further. "He's not coming."

"Okay, so what?" said Harriet. "Even if he doesn't come, we can still have fun! This is a family outing! Not everything is about Aziraphale. Right?"

"Right. Right. Yeah, I know that." He knew that, but he didn't necessarily _feel_ that way.

Harriet frowned. "You're looking a little jumpy. Did you take your meds?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "I always take my meds." He couldn't help but feel annoyed. For a moment, he wondered if he should take something extra to calm him down. "I'm fine."

The kids had no idea what they wanted to do first. Each one of them wanted to try something different. One wanted to fence, the other wanted to do some archery, Adam wanted to throw knives, and Warlock didn't give a fig. He just stood there with a stupid smile on his face, following along with whatever Adam wanted to do.

"Your uncle looks upset," Adam noticed. 

Warlock, dazed by the sun that was Adam, opened his mouth without really thinking. "I think he's upset because your godfather isn't here. Pretty sure he has a huge crush on him." _Oh shit. I shouldn't have said that._

Adam looked horrified. "Are you serious? I mean I know they've been hanging out a lot at the shop. You know, now that you mention it… I think my godfather might have a crush on your uncle!" Adam wasn't sure how to feel about that. He settled on disgust for the moment. "Gross." Adam shuddered.

Warlock's smile disappeared. Gross. Adam was grossed out about their uncles liking each other. "Oh," he breathed. He was terrified it was because Adam was homophobic. But Aziraphale was obviously gay. Did Adam not know? 

Adam was utterly unaware of Warlock's internal panic. He was still thinking about Crowley and Uncle Az as a couple. On the one hand, he still hated Crowley for what he'd done. On the other hand, his uncle didn't seem to mind Crowley's presence anymore, in fact, they got along well. They laughed a lot together, that was for sure. It made no sense for Adam to continue holding a grudge, but he didn't think he was ready to let go of his ill will towards the ex-book critic.

"Uncle Az loves these things," Adam mused aloud. "I'm sure he'll be here at some point." An idea lit up his whole demeanour. "Want to spy on them? See if it's true?"

Warlock furrowed his brow. Uncle A.J. wouldn't like that. But Warlock needed to know where Adam stood, and this was the best way to find out. He gave his friend a wicked grin. "Let's do it."

* * *

"It's too bloody hot here," Crowley grumbled for the hundredth time.

Harriet groaned. "Oh, my god, just take off that stupid jacket."

"But then I’d have to hold it!" Crowley complained.

"For fuck's sake," Harriet whispered harshly. "Everyone knows you're just waiting for Aziraphale to take off your fucking jacket to see how he reacts!"

Crowley's lips nearly disappeared. "Not true." It was true.

A boisterous laugh caught Crowley's attention, he could recognise that laugh anywhere. It was definitely Aziraphale. He whipped his head around quickly, trying to catch the white tufts of hair and finally found the object of his affections at a chip stand. Of course, he would be in the food area.

He smiled wide before gasping in shock, nearly having a downright heart attack at the scene. Aziraphale was naked! Well, Aziraphale wasn't wearing the usual layers. And he forgot his bowtie! (Aziraphale didn't forget, it was just hot and impractical to wear one). Crowley had never seen him without a bowtie before. Not only that, but Aziraphale's collar was open a couple of buttons and his light blue shirt had _short sleevessss_ , exposing his arms to the world for the first time! Of, course it wasn't the first time, it was just Crowley's first time seeing Aziraphale's bare, lightly-dusted, with white hair, arms! And were those... _shorts_?!

_Naked!_ Aziraphale was naked!

Crowley was rooted to the spot, just letting his eyes take in as much as they could while Aziraphale was preoccupied. Those calves. Those arms. Those arms would be his death–and _good god almighty_ he was wearing sandals. 

Crowley was utterly scandalised. And aroused.

The man looked incredibly delectable, and Crowley just wanted to take him around the food stand and ravage him right there. Just the thought of it made Crowley giddy. He was so happy to see him. He couldn't take the separation any longer. Right when Crowley was about to call out to Aziraphale, Crowley noticed something that made him clench his jaw in rage. The man taking Aziraphale's order was giving him a brilliant and flirtatious smile. 

The worst part of it all? Aziraphale was beaming right back at him.

The closer Crowley got to him, the more he could see those pink cheeks and a mischievous gleam in Aziraphale's eye. Maybe it was the heat. Perhaps the man said something funny. Against Crowley's better judgment, he took his time and eavesdropped.

Aziraphale placed both of his hands on his cane and leaned forward on it, his smile never wavering. He chuckled again at what the man told him, and then Crowley heard it.

"Don't worry about it," the server purred. "Hardly anybody keeps cash, right?" He _winked_. "Chips on the house if you give me your number."

Crowley witnessed Aziraphale blush shyly. Heat began to rise in his own face but for a very different reason.

"Well, if you make it two orders, we might have a deal." Aziraphale was flirting! The horror! This could not be happening, thought Crowley, as his breath became shallow. 

Without looking at his sister, who was nose deep in cotton candy, Crowley shed his coat. "Hold my jacket..." he muttered dangerously. He was going to fix the situation... Crowley style.

Aziraphale giggled like a schoolgirl before Crowley slammed down a much-too-large note on the counter.

"His chips are on me," Crowley drawled. 

Aziraphale turned around with Crowley's name on his smiling lips, but when he got a good look at him, his smile faltered. Crowley didn't miss the little flame of hunger in Aziraphale's eyes as he rolled them. "Oh, good _lord_." It was meant to sound vexed but didn't quite make the cut.

Crowley preened at the reaction. He'd take it. 

Despite what everybody else thought, Crowley had come prepared for the warm day. He was wearing a grey vest under that jacket. So, now he was entirely sleeveless, showing off more skin than Aziraphale. With his arms and tattoos on full display, Crowley leaned right over Aziraphale's shoulder and grabbed the chips. "Let me get that for you," Crowley murmured sensually by Aziraphale's ear and placed his other hand on the small of Aziraphale's back.

Aziraphale scoffed softly in amusement but did not pull away.

Crowley acted the gentleman and took the food while at the same time, guided Aziraphale away from the chip stand, never letting go of his back.

"Thank you for the rescue, Crowley," Aziraphale chuckled, "but I was about to get chips for the both of us at the very economical price of a fake number."

Crowley halted and gazed down at Aziraphale, who appeared a lot shorter than usual in his sandals while Crowley sported his boots. He cocked a brow and smirked. "You can be a right bastard when you wanna be."

Aziraphale grinned and wiggled in place with an evil gleam in his eyes before finding a seat on a nearby bench. If Crowley sat just a bit too close so his bare arm could have a chance at brushing against Aziraphale's, no one brought it up.

"I didn't think you’d come," Crowley admitted, spreading his legs wide and leaning back. He pulled up his arm onto the backrest behind Aziraphale possessively. 

"Mm!" Aziraphale chewed and swallowed. "Why ever not?" He didn't seem to notice or mind Crowley's extra close proximity, which delighted Crowley to no end.

"S'hot, and lots of walking." Crowley shrugged.

Aziraphale straightened, his brow furrowed like a teacher about to scold a student. "Tread carefully there, Crowley. I'm no invalid."

Crowley choked on his own saliva and sat upright. "That's not what I was implying at all!"

Aziraphale laughed with his mouth full and bumped Crowley's arm with his own playfully. "Relax, dear," he said mid-chew. "This is supposed to be fun!"

Crowley was still happily swimming in endorphins at the skin to skin contact and being called dear! _Holy shit he called me dear!_ True, Aziraphale used the term of endearment with almost everyone, but never with Crowley... until that moment.

Adam made a retching noise. “You’re so right, ugh!” He shuddered with disgust.

Warlock began to fume. “Why?”

“Why what?” Adam asked, still staring at the two men who were sitting much too close together for friends.

“Why do you find it gross? Because they’re men?” Warlock finally accused.

Adam whipped around, eyes wide. “What?!”

“C’mon, Adam, just say it! You grossed out because they’re gay.”

“No way! That’s not true!”

Warlock wavered but did not stop his suspicious glare. “Then why?”

Adam shrugged. “Because your uncle’s a git.”

Warlock opened his mouth to refute with outrage but thought better of it. “He is a git. But he always tries to fix his mistakes. He’s not a bad guy. He’s just dense sometimes.”

Adam looked toward the two men and saw them smiling and bantering. He’d never seen his godfather like that before. He turned back to Warlock and shuffled his feet. “I’d never say being gay is gross, you know? My godfather is gay and…”

Warlock was positive that Adam was about to call him out. He held his breath.

“Well,” Adam continued, “I think I am too?” He looked up at his friend and smiled nervously. 

Warlock let out a large breath of air and grinned back. “Me too.”

Adam smirked and blushed. “Cool,” said Adam.

“Cool,” replied Warlock.

* * *

Crowley and Aziraphale were having a little banter over which restaurant served the best chips when Adam and Warlock accidentally made themselves known after Adam tripped over a rock.

Crowley and Aziraphale turned around just in time to catch Warlock being pulled to the ground with a surprised yelp. The boys were obscured by some shrubbery but not well enough.

"Adam, Warlock?" called Aziraphale. "What are two doing rolling around in the hay back there?"

Crowley snorted. _The beautiful bastard,_ Crowley thought proudly.

Warlock shot up first, leaves and twigs in his long black hair. "Nothing!" he shouted in a way that meant they were absolutely up to no good.

Adam finally stood. "Hi! We were just wondering if you guys wanted to try any of the games!"

"Yeah! That's it!"

Aziraphale shook his head and smiled fondly. "You've emptied your parent's wallets already, have you?"

"Yep!" Adam exclaimed proudly and moved around the bench with Warlock in tow. "Come on, uncle Az! You're really good at these, and I want to try and win the–"

"The smiling dung pillow, yes, I remember," Aziraphale replied with a distasteful scrunch of his nose. "I don't know why anyone would want that vile thing, but let's go then before they run out like last year."

Crowley launched off the bench and held out his arm for Aziraphale. He only hesitated a moment before taking it with a soft "Thank you."

Crowley finally got to see what the prize was when a young boy walked by with it. It was a stuffed poop emoji, big enough for a Doberman to use as a bed. He laughed. "I want it."

Aziraphale groaned. "Of course you do."

When they got to the game stand, Crowley froze. 

Guns. Pellet guns, but still guns, lined the wall. Crowley panicked on behalf of Aziraphale. "Nah, I don't want it. Why don't we play something else?"

"You might not want it, but I do!" Adam exclaimed with a few excited bounces. 

It happened too quickly for Crowley to catch himself. One moment, the attendant was handing Aziraphale a rifle, and the next, Crowley intercepted it. "I'll do it!"

"Ah," Aziraphale sneered, "a little friendly competition, Crowley?"

Before Crowley could rebut, Aziraphale paid for another rifle. Again, Crowley grabbed it quickly. "Nah, just me," he spoke to the attendant.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale exclaimed in outrage. "Give it here, good sir," he nearly grated out to the man with his money and toy gun. 

Crowley turned on Aziraphale and hissed. "I don't think it's a good idea."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow with confusion. "Why not?" Then the realisation hit him. His eyes grew wide with surprise first before they narrowed into an angry glare. "Now see here–"

"Uncle A.J." Warlock intervened and put a hand on Crowley's shoulder. "Can you get me a candy _apple?"_

Crowley was only confused for a moment before taking in a sharp breath. He went pale. _Apple_. That was the code word. The code word to be used in public when Crowley was fucking up.

"Uh, yeah, of course," he said quietly, as docile as a kitten. He placed the gun on the counter. Crowley turned around and walked away without so much as a glance at Aziraphale or anyone else. Crowley could hear the clinks of the pellets and the boy's cheers fade away until he found a less populated area. He sat down at a picnic table and cradled his head with his trembling hands.

He fucked up. Twice. No, _three_ times, Crowley realised with horror. He’d possessively steered Aziraphale away from the chips man. He had implied that Aziraphale couldn't handle an outing such as this one, and the icing on the cake... ripping a fucking toy out of Aziraphale's hands to stop him from playing a stupid game that he felt would only hurt his angel, like that time in the park. 

It was over. There was no chance for him now. Crowley's eyes began to sting with bitter disappointment in himself. He didn't know how long he sat there, but someone finally approached him from behind.

"There you are!" Aziraphale's cheerful voice sounded muffled.

Crowley lifted his head and turned around only to find Aziraphale standing before him with the poop emoji pillow covering his face. 

The smiling poop face tilted its head, and Aziraphale pointed at Crowley in a chiding manner. "You're supposed to be having fun.”

Crowley scoffed but couldn't smile, even with his angel being ridiculous. "It's too hot."

The poop head shook side to side. "No excuses, Crowley. There is plenty of shade and drink here, so off you pop!" The poop head drooped forward a bit and sighed when Crowley made no move. "I was hoping not to resort to this but..." he stomped his foot and straightened, "my stench sense is smelling me that you are being a stinker and I'd like to know what the deuces this dung has to deuce to put a smile on your faeces..."

Crowley turned purple while trying to hold in a burst of laughter. "That was awful," he finally let out on a breathy chuckle.

Aziraphale peeked around the pillow and smiled in a way that could light up the night sky. "But it worked." He approached Crowley and gave him the dung pillow. "For you, dear." 

Crowley took it like Aziraphale had handed him roses and sniffed it. "It's lovely. Remind me to put it in a vase later."

Aziraphale laughed and offered his bare arm. Crowley stared at it until he found courage. He took it and stood. Despite Crowley's rough start to the day, he was able to enjoy himself for the most part. The distractions at every turn helped, but when Crowley found himself in his car while taking Aziraphale home, the silence allowed his blunders of the day to resurface. 

Aziraphale was clever. If he hadn't put two and two together yet, someone must have cast a miracle in Crowley's favour. Aziraphale hadn't let on at all. But he was a bastard and could be hiding his knowledge really well, so Crowley was nervous when he finally parked in front of the shop.

They spoke at the same time.

"I'm sorry that I–"

"Would you like to–"

"Oh, you go first."

"No, go ahead."

Aziraphale laughed and cleared his throat. He gave Crowley a shy smile and damn near fluttered his eyelids. "That was a lot of walking. Would you mind terribly helping me up to my flat?"

Crowley turned off the ignition and got out of the car without saying anything. He didn't trust his mouth at that moment, he was afraid something like "I'll do anything for you" would come tumbling out.

Once they were in the flat, Aziraphale sighed with relief and plopped down on his recliner. He pulled the lever to elevate his legs and groaned when he heard a pop from his knee. Crowley was at his side with water and painkillers in a flash.

"Oh, thank you." Aziraphale took his medication and looked up at Crowley with pleading eyes that made Crowley want to melt. "Would you fetch something for me?"

Crowley zipped off and then zipped right back. "Um, what and where is it?" 

Aziraphale unsuccessfully hid his smile. "A topical ointment in my nightstand drawer."

Crowley dashed into Aziraphale's bedroom. It was the second time he had the chance to see it. The whole room smelled like Aziraphale, soft, sweet and comforting. Crowley shook off his daze and opened the nightstand.

The first bottle he plucked out of the drawer nearly made him faint. It was not the topical ointment he knew Aziraphale had referred to. Lube. He didn't want to snoop. That was a lie, he did want to snoop very desperately. Was it really snooping when someone gave you permission to look for something? Condoms. "Fuck," Crowley breathed. Jealousy uncoiled itself in his belly and made its way to his foggy brain. _Nope_. He snapped out of it successfully. Aziraphale needed his help. He pulled out another bottle and was grateful it was pain-relieving cream.

Aziraphale took the bottle and sent Crowley on another errand to bring him a bottle of wine. Crowley did as was asked and brought it plus one glass.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. "Do you not want some as well?"

"Yes," Crowley squawked and ran off again. When he finally settled on the couch in front of Aziraphale, he almost dropped his glass.

Aziraphale was rubbing the cream on his bare knee, massaging it slowly with little grunts of pain that sort of sounded not-like-pain to Crowley's ears. Crowley suffered silently and made sure his sunnies were still on his face.

It took three bottles of wine for Crowley to drop his specs and lounge lazily on the couch while he and Aziraphale talked about the end of the world, of all things. Aziraphale was slurring something about krakens when he picked up the pain-relieving cream again and groaned. Crowley had every right not to trust his mouth because he said: "I can do that fo' ya, if ya wan'."

Aziraphale froze and looked up at Crowley with a hooded gaze. "Hmm. I'd only let a close friend do the honours." 

Crowley deflated and felt his gut twist inside him. Then he realised what he'd said and grew extremely hot. He needed to leave.

"S’a good thing I have a close friend right ‘ere," Aziraphale lilted playfully.

Crowley's world flipped on its axis. " _Me_?" he pointed at himself, mouth slack with surprise and drunkenness.

Aziraphale sniggered and nodded. "Yes, y’ idiot."

Crowley had not been very aware of sliding off the couch and crawling his way across to Aziraphale. That meant he wasn't aware that Aziraphale's breathing had shallowed at the sight of him on his hands and knees.

Opening the bottle and squirting a generous amount in his hand, Crowley forced himself not to look up at Aziraphale. He tried to remember the areas that Aziraphale had massaged earlier and placed his hands on his skin. That's when he knew he was going to die right there because Aziraphale let out a soft moan. It was a barely audible thing, but it sounded like someone hit a gong right by his head. It shook him, literally.

"Harder, please," Aziraphale whispered.

 _Oh, fuck me_ , Crowley whined in the privacy of his own mind. He used more pressure.

"Oh! Yes, right there."

Crowley closed his eyes to see if he could tune out the obscene sounds Aziraphale was making.

"Ungh, that feels good."

Closing his eyes did not work. He was painfully hard in his trousers and ached for relief. 

"A little lower. Lower. Ah! There! Yes! Oh, good lord!"

Crowley couldn't stand it anymore, he needed to see Aziraphale's face. With a nervous glance, he knew at once that it had been a colossal mistake. Aziraphale's brow was pinched together, his eyes closed, and his mouth partly open. That look could feed Crowley's wanking sessions for aeons. He swallowed and let out a small groan in response to his angel's.

Aziraphale snapped his eyes open and blearily stared at Crowley. Then a smug grin spread slowly on his face.

Crowley froze then ripped his hands off Aziraphale. " _Aw_ , you fucking _bastard_!"

Aziraphale burst into wheezing laughter. "Your... face...!"

"Sodding-cock- _bastard_ ," Crowley muttered while crawling for the bottle of wine. "Never doin' another thing f'you 'gain!" He grabbed the wine and drank right from the bottle. Despite himself, he was smiling. _Fuck, I love him._

"Y'know," Aziraphale slowly composed himself, "there's another stage of friend- _ship,_ I almost forgot 'bout."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Whas tha?" Crowley's air supply could not replenish at the sight of those greedy hazel eyes locked between Crowley's legs. He begged the universe that his hard-on was not noticeable. He looked down. "Fuck the universe," he grated at his very visible tented trousers.

Aziraphale chuckled evilly, righted the recliner, and slid to the floor in front of Crowley. He shuffled right up to his face and kept staring at Crowley's lips before plucking the bottle out of Crowley's hand. He took a long chug and exhaled dramatically after he was done. Aziraphale placed the wine down and poked Crowley on his bare shoulder that sent needle-like sensations up Crowley's spine.

"Benffff... friendzzz... with beeefff– whazz the word?"

"Benefits?" Crowley piped.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers. "Yes!" He looked at Crowley's lips again. "Yes," he whispered. "Is tha' some-something you're-you might be interested in?" He asked sweetly.

Yes, Crowley was very interested but... but...

"Um," Crowley ventured slowly though his heart was hammering in his throat, "if we-we, if we do _that_ , do I miss out on-on the _other_ one?"

Aziraphale frowned and squinted. "What other one?"

"The, um, nintament one? Ya know, nimtamant friendsssship."

"Intimtamitamin?" Aziraphale tried. He shook his head. "Thas not it. Intiiiiimmmm...

Crowley echoed right back, trying to help Aziraphale along. "MMmmintamint...

"Minuteminin–pfffft!" Aziraphale dove forward into Crowley's chest, wheezing and giggling. "I'm so drunk!"

Crowley's brain shut down. Aziraphale's face had landed on his chest, his nose tickling a spot of chest hair peeking out from his vest. His angel's white curls were nearly up Crowley's nostrils, so he didn't feel too bad inhaling the scent of the man he loved. 

"Are you... _smelling_ me?"

"Psh! NO!"

"Oh, well, I was... I was smelling you." he giggled again.

"Oh?" Crowley blinked and smiled. "Whado I smell like?" Crowley held his breath when he heard Aziraphale take a loud sniff. "Good. You smell like good." Aziraphale lifted his head and leaned in towards Crowley's mouth.

And their lips met. 

It was a sloppy, wet, uncoordinated kiss but Crowley didn't care. His angel's lips were soft and warm and tasted of fine wine. His angel's tongue invaded his mouth, making Crowley see stars. He whimpered when Aziraphale dragged a warm hand up his chest, over his shoulder, and behind his head to deepen their kiss. The ache between Crowley's legs was back and with friends. Everything in his body screamed and yearned now.

The room came into sharp focus when Aziraphale's hand found his warm, damp head still trapped in his trousers. "Shit," Crowley said from a mixture of blinding pleasure and the reality of the moment.

He didn't want to be friends with benefits. And he still hadn't told Aziraphale the truth! If they did what he thought they were going to do, that would be a horrific start to their relationship. That would be the end of any kind of relationship! Crowley’s breath came in short at the thought of losing everything, his everything, the everything right there in his arms. No, no, no, "no!"

Aziraphale's hand stopped its maddening rubbing and wrenched away. He pulled back with dazed eyes and red-kissed lips in a frown. "I'm sorry," Aziraphale whispered. "I shouldn't have. You don't want... me like... that..."

Crowley’s whole being shook, he had to fix this. "I do! I really, really, really, really do. But..."

Aziraphale gazed at him with sad and confused eyes, eyebrows angle up, pleadingly. "But what?"

_Tell him. Tell him._

_He'd hate you._

_You'll lose him._

_He won't want a liar._

_He won't want you._

"But I don't want the, erm, benefits. I mean, I do, but I also want to reach the last one. The inti...MATE! _Intimate_ stage of friendship. I want more than... benefits." Crowley's eyes, large and frantic, begged for Aziraphale to understand. "We're very drunk, angel," Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale's eyes widened briefly before he crawled away. "Oh, dear. We are. That would be, eh, a bad start, yes." He took a few steadying breaths before speaking again. "You can sleep on the couch."

That was tempting. Too tempting. "I'll call a cab, I think."

Aziraphale nodded in defeat. "As you wish." He somehow managed to get up on his own. He swayed a bit but stayed upright. "Good night, Crowley."

"Good night, Aziraphale..."

Aziraphale went to bed.

And Crowley went home and spooned his poop pillow.

  
  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is just a flavour of a LIME in this chapter and... A CLIFFHANGER. Reader beware. Don't say I didn't warn you!
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta's Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink! And the whole discord and Insta group!
> 
> Okay... READ ON!

_Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,_ Aziraphale mused with a satisfied smirk at his ceiling. 

"What a lovely dunce," he murmured. "At least he makes up for his idiocy with his looks and... kindness." 

Aziraphale sighed and resigned himself to getting out of bed despite the hangover. It wasn't so bad, considering how much he imbibed the previous evening. But Aziraphale had not had as much wine as Crowley. He’d made sure of that. Aziraphale did not like testing people, but if Crowley wanted to get closer to him, then he had to prove and earn it, especially after what he'd done. Crowley's sabotage was no small matter, and Aziraphale was not about to let him off the hook so easily.

 _Except_...

Except Aziraphale was running out of patience, and that was a rare occurrence for him. He usually had patience to spare. But this time... this time he wanted too much. He desired too much. When it came to indulgence, Aziraphale had a hard time with self-control. After all, he wasn't getting any younger! Why should he continue to wait?

Crowley had certainly surprised him by stopping things before they had a chance to fall into bed. Aziraphale had hoped the wily serpent would put on the breaks, but that didn't mean he wasn't a bit disappointed as well. He hadn't felt that horny in ages! The way Crowley's skilled fingers worked on his skin, well, Aziraphale's little fun noises hadn't been _all_ for show, let's just say.

Skin. Crowley knew what he was doing, wearing that vest, exposing his tattoos–that were gorgeous works of art. Aziraphale thought he noticed black wings on his back, peeking out of Crowley's shirt. Very alluring. The man was very, very, alluring. Everything about him screamed sensuality. And don't get Aziraphale started on how Crowley waited on him like an eager pup! And that _crawl_! 

"Lord have mercy," Aziraphale breathed, remembering the way Crowley crossed his living room on his hands and knees. Something fiery and possessive had taken hold at that very moment. Aziraphale was surprised he hadn't snatched the man up by the hair and into his lap. 

The morning routine lasted a bit longer than usual... due to an unusually long shower. Aziraphale needed some relief, or he'd pounce on Crowley the moment he saw him.

It was Monday. Crowley would be by around three in the afternoon. That was if Crowley was brave enough to face Aziraphale. And Aziraphale had a feeling that bravery would actually have very little to do with Crowley coming by and pretending the previous night had been perfectly normal. Pretend they didn't snog like teenagers. Pretend Aziraphale hadn't gotten a sample of what lay between his legs. 

Aziraphale chuckled. No. Crowley would _try_ to pretend. Aziraphale did not think he would succeed. The serpent was not as smooth as he wanted people to believe. He laughed again, picturing the flustered man and his adorable blush. Crowley would show, he was sure. He would show because Crowley was in for it now. Intimate friendship. 

Intimate... Crowley wanted "more than benefits." Aziraphale was sure that Crowley had no idea how romantic that statement had been. It had utterly melted Aziraphale. "More than benefits." More than just the good. More than just pleasure. He wanted it all. The good and the bad. The pleasure and the pain. He desired everything that came along with a committed, intimate relationship. Crowley didn't mind the work it would take. He didn't mind indulging Aziraphale in more ways than one. Crowley humoured Aziraphale's every whim with a pretty smile and stars in his eyes.

Aziraphale didn't care to admit it anymore. He was entirely besotted with Crowley. 

The demon situation was no small issue, but Aziraphale was dealing with it the best way he knew how. As he mentioned before, the ball was in the demon's court. Everything was still what ifs and daydreams with no movement forward. Would the demon ever reveal himself?

Things were moving slow. Much too slow. Now that Aziraphale knew what and who he wanted, he had the urge to charge ahead as quickly as possible. To hell with it all.

The thought of the demon reminded Aziraphale that he still needed to reply to his last message. After seeking relief for a _second_ time that morning, which was unusual but not unwelcome, Aziraphale sat down with his laptop.

He knew exactly what he was going to do, precisely what he wanted to say. It was time.

* * *

Crowley had woken up in a puddle of his own drool and hard as a rock. His head ached, and his cock fared no better. He rocked himself until he realised he'd been humping the poop pillow and drew the line there. Crowley got up and took his business to the shower.

He felt shame as he wrapped his hand around himself and stroked to the memory of Aziraphale's lips on his own. He came hard and fast when he remembered Aziraphale's bold fondling of his clothed cock. _Pathetic_ , he thought with a groan. Coming in seconds like a pubescent boy. After that embarrassing performance, Crowley rushed through his routine to check his messages and see if Angel had responded.

Nothing.

What if the demon was losing Aziraphale's affections? The insecure, jobless, crazy, demon with baggage was harder to love than the hardworking, down to Earth, seemingly ordinary Crowley.

What would Aziraphale do when he finally confessed to him? It was getting harder and harder to guess.

What Crowley was sure of was that one day soon, he'd burst into flames if Aziraphale touched him like _that_ again. He didn't think he'd have the willpower to stop another attempt from his enticing angel.

Crowley could not stop thinking about how Aziraphale might react when he showed up at the bookshop later. Because Crowley was not going to stop now. He couldn't even if he wanted to, if he were honest. Harriet would have to chain him to a post until Crowley forgot about Aziraphale... which would be never. Anyway, it seemed like Aziraphale wasn't too put out about the well-meaning rejection. In fact, he had said, "That would be a bad start." Which meant he wanted to start! Someday. Aziraphale wanted Crowley to work for it, and Crowley would not disappoint because he had an advantage... his disorder. Who knew it would come in handy?!

Unless Aziraphale clearly told him to never show his face again, Crowley would paw at his door for scraps. Was that healthy? Probably not. Would it be worth it whether or not Aziraphale wanted to move things along or not? Crowley tried to believe it would be, but his infatuation for Aziraphale would be nearly impossible to curb at this point, which meant Crowley may not be able to trust himself to just be friends if that's what Aziraphale ended up wanting.

Crowley heard the notification from his computer and raced to his study.

> _Dear Demon,_
> 
> _I'm glad to know your treatment is going well. You do seem quite self-aware, impressively so. You take responsibility for your actions with no excuses, and that is a fine and rare quality. I'm also happy to hear that you desire a committed relationship and that I haven't scared you off._
> 
> _What you listed is fair and undoubtedly realistic. To be honest, even without a mental illness present, a relationship cannot survive healthily without boundaries (and the consequences of crossing them), some reassurance, independence, and patience. So, yes, I can handle that._
> 
> _What would be some of your boundaries?_
> 
> _I'll need a little more time to think about petty things (because I can be quite petty to be terribly honest), but the important ones for me would be:_
> 
> _Faithfulness. I cannot endure an affair. Some can forgive that kind of transgression, and that is immensely admirable, but I do not think I am one of those people._

Crowley scoffed. He was no cheater, and that was definitely a boundary for him as well... though he'd probably be the type to "forgive" and stick around. He had been willing to before.

> _Acceptance. I'm very set in my ways. For the petty things, as mentioned above, I'm sure I can compromise. But I will eat what I want when I want, and when I need to be alone, I need to be alone. That might be difficult for you, but not to worry, I have no qualms "kicking you out" and "sticking to my guns," believe me._

Crowley laughed. "No, my angelic bastard, I know you don't."

> _Lies._

Crowley felt as if he'd been slapped. _Lies_. He kept reading with horrible, cold dread in his chest.

> _Lies. I cannot tolerate them. Secrets and lies, even seemingly innocent fibs, are a slippery slope and will destroy my trust in you. And there are no loopholes for it. You will not be able to justify your way around it, so please keep that in mind. I understand that you may not want to admit if you've done something to cross a boundary, but you must find a way to fight that instinct, or it will never work between us. I'd rather you err and admit it. It might be challenging to work through, but it will be worth it for the sake of our relationship, whether or not we move forward in a romantic sense or stay as friends._
> 
> _That's all I can think of for now. These are the "big ones" for me._
> 
> _So, Demon, do you think you are ready to show yourself soon?_
> 
> _Your Friend,_
> 
> _Angel_

Crowley stared at the screen without blinking, imagining all the ways Aziraphale would cut ties with him altogether when he confessed he was the demon. 

He pulled out his mobile and dialled Harriet.

"What?"

"Hello, Harriet," Crowley said matter of factly. "I need you to take Warlock to school today, and then come to my flat."

"Goddammit, Anthony... wait... why?"

"Oh, nothing," he let out calmly while idly playing with a pen, "only I'm due for a full-blown breakdown, and I'm pretty sure it will happen in the next few seconds."

"Shit."

Harriet made quick timing. She entered the apartment with the spare key that Anthony had given her and called out to him.

"Anthony?" She stalked through the apartment until she reached his bedroom. She opened the door, but he wasn't in there either. Then she noticed the sound of running water. _Oh, god, no!_ Her mind landed on the worst possible scenario, picturing her brother in the shower in a pool of water and... _ice cream?_

Anthony was sitting in the shower, fully clothed and drenched, eating ice cream right out of the tub with the hot stream of water spraying the back of his head. 

He noticed her.

"Oh, hey," he said through a mouthful of chocolate.

Harriet frowned. "Well, that's new," she muttered, hiding her relief at finding him alive and being overdramatic. "I'm assuming this has something to do with Aziraphale."

Crowley nodded and dove back into his carton. "Laptop is on the bed."

Harriet shook her head and retrieved the computer. She read Aziraphale's message and glared at her brother. "I'm not above saying I told you so." She closed the laptop and stomped toward the shower to turn off the water. "Get out of there. You're telling him the truth. _Today_."

* * *

After a brutal pep talk from his sister, Crowley pulled himself together and distracted himself by helping Harriet with their business proposal. When it was near the time to pick up Warlock from school, Crowley and Harriet roleplayed every scenario that Crowley feared would happen. Then she sent him on his way like a big boy.

Crowley walked a bit straighter, swayed his hips a bit more, and was totally ready to confess to Aziraphale. He tore the door open to the bookshop with his chest puffed out and a grave downturn to his mouth.

"Aziraphale! You here? I need to tell you something!" Crowley strutted toward the back room while Aziraphale called out to him.

"In the office!"

"Right," said Crowley, taking in a deep breath and ready to spew out the truth–

The air came rushing back out on a wheeze when he saw Aziraphale lounging on the sofa, face obscured by a book. Not just any book...

Aziraphale peeked over his choice of reading material with a beaming smile. "Crowley! I was hoping you'd stop by!"

Crowley continued to stare at the cover, feeling the blood drain from his face. "What, uh, what's that you got there?"

Aziraphale furrowed his brow and looked down at his book. "Ah!" He exclaimed with an excited gleam in his eye. "It's You, by Caroline Kepnes. Quite thrilling actually, despite it not being my preferred genre. Have you read it?"

Crowley licked his dry lips and nodded slowly. "Yep. Seen the show too," his voice cracked toward the end, so he cleared his throat to cover it up. "Why are you reading that?" Crowley had not counted on Aziraphale looking up the damn thing because he had no interest in television, but of course, he found out it was based on a novel. And of course, he'd read it.

Aziraphale shrugged. "A friend of mine brought it up. Seemed interesting. Quite disturbing, but entertaining." He closed the book and looked up at Crowley expectantly. "What did you need to tell me?"

Disturbing. Aziraphale was disturbed by it. Crowley had come fully prepared to say that he was the mysterious demon with all the issues aforementioned. Issues he shared with the main character of the book that Aziraphale was reading and finding disturbing. 

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale muttered with a frown. "Is it about last night?" He asked with a hint of concern. He sat up and gnawed on his lower lip. "I crossed a line, and I know I apologised already, but I believe another is in order while sober–"

"Um, yeah, no. That's fine. It's fine," Crowley said quickly. "I wanted to tell you that everything is fine and I wanted to make sure you were, you know, fine too. Are you? Fine, I mean."

Aziraphale gave him a grateful smile and nodded. "Yes, Crowley. We're adults and good friends. We were drunk. End of story. Yes?"

 _Shit. Shit. Shit. End of story? Shit._ Perhaps it was the end of his story with Aziraphale. "Mhm." He nodded.

"Jolly good!" Aziraphale stood up, placed a bookmark in the infernal novel and crossed toward Crowley. He gave Crowley a lingering look that Crowley could not decipher and smirked. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For stopping... things." He chuckled nervously. "I'm rubbish with the whole friends with benefits thing. It's not what I want either. I'm glad nothing happened."

Crowley nodded slowly and pursed his lips. "No problem. Yeah."

Aziraphale's eyes shifted in the awkward moment. "Right, well, I'll leave you to it. I'm sure you have a lot of work to do." He smiled and left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Crowley alone.

Alone and freaking out.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon went on as usual. Aziraphale tried not to check in on Crowley too often because he wasn't sure he could control himself. It had taken every ounce of his will not to throw the man onto the sofa and straddle him while sticking his tongue down his throat. He offered Crowley tea, coffee, and biscuits, which he accepted every time. 

Though Crowley had assured him that everything was right between them, Aziraphale noticed his dour mood and stiff demeanour. He hoped that would change when he moved on with his plan.

Crowley stayed in the office for the most part. When he finally emerged, it was just in time to take Warlock home. Aziraphale only had a moment with Crowley alone, but a moment was all he needed.

"Say, Crowley?"

"Yeah," Crowley replied without meeting Aziraphale's eye.

"Do you have any plans this evening?" Aziraphale tried not to bite down on his lip or give away how nervous he was.

Crowley snapped his gaze to Aziraphale's, his eyebrows shooting above his sunglasses. "Erm, no, no, why?"

Aziraphale approached Crowley slowly as if he were a skittish cat. "I have a bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape that I've been saving for a special occasion–don't worry, it's just one bottle," he chuckled, "I thought you might enjoy the vintage while..." he stepped closer and gave Crowley a meaningful stare, "while you read my book."

Aziraphale was confused at the seemingly pained expression Crowley gave him. "If you're no longer interested in reading it–"

"I am!" Crowley reached out but pulled back quickly. "I'd be honoured. Yeah."

Aziraphale brightened and bounced on his heels. "Good! What time should I expect you?"

"I'll come straight back after I drop off Warlock. Is that good for you?"

Aziraphale's smile stretched wider, and he nodded with a blush in his cheeks. "Absolutely." He rocked on his feet and glanced at the floor, shyly. "I admit I'm a bit nervous..."

"Please don't be," Crowley reassured. "I'm not a book critic anymore, remember?" He chuckled mirthlessly and scratched the back of his neck. "Anyway, I'm sure it's good."

Aziraphale gave him a playful glare. "Don't flatter me. I do want your honest opinion, just try to be gentle about it."

Crowley crossed his heart and lifted his hand as if to swear an oath. "I will give honest and constructive feedback, but only if you want it, and I will be as gentle as a lamb."

Aziraphale let out a giddy laugh. "All right. I'll order some take out. Italian?"

"Sounds good."

"Very well." Aziraphale pursed his lips to tamper down his smile and could not resist one temptation. "Would you feel comfortable at all with a," he coughed, "friendly, short farewell kiss? Please say no if you don't–"

"Yes," Crowley piped up too quickly.

Aziraphale felt his face blaze. He swallowed hard and held his breath. Aziraphale slowly stepped toward Crowley, placing gentle hands on his shoulders. He didn't really have to tiptoe but did anyway before lightly placing his lips on Crowley's cheek. He lingered only a moment before stepping back and letting out the breath he'd been holding.

"Until later, then," Aziraphale murmured. He witnessed Crowley's adam's apple bob before he nodded quickly, muttering an unintelligible reply. Aziraphale sniggered bashfully and turned away to call for the boys.

Crowley barely made a sound as he and Warlock went on their way.

Soon enough, Diedre picked Adam up, and Anathema finished her shift. Aziraphale was finally alone in the shop. He placed the order for the food and flitted nervously to and fro, tidying up and prepping for his second evening alone with Crowley. They'd stay sober this time, he'd make sure of it. Crowley understood what this meant. The ultimate olive branch towards an intimate friendship... and maybe more.

Aziraphale was ready and hoped Crowley would be too.

He opened the wine to let it air and looked around his flat. Something was missing. "Ah, yes, the book!" He made his way downstairs and opened his cabinet where he hid his manuscripts. He grabbed the stack of papers and tried not to rush back up the steps since his knee was already protesting all the climbing he'd done in the day.

Halfway up to the second floor, Aziraphale heard a loud _pop!_

He turned around but didn't notice anything. Shrugging and passing it up as something falling off a shelf, he resolved to tend to it later. He reached his flat door, but then he smelled it.

A distinct scent of something like fish and... burning. Aziraphale gasped as his brain supplied the answer.

An electrical fire.

True enough, when Aziraphale turned around again and peered over the bannister, he could see some smoke coming from where the breaker would be.

"Shit!"

Aziraphale raced toward the stairs, already pulling out his phone to dial the fire department–

His knee decided at that moment to betray him.

Aziraphale tumbled down the stairs, hitting the side of his head on one of the steps, rendering him unconscious.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope. Nuh-uh. I warned you. No yelling. lol Who am I kidding, I LOVE the yelling!
> 
> One of you called the You book thing lol! Brownie points to you! Check out the last chapter for another art piece by Joahn Palaty that features the poop pillow! lol


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, just go for it...

Crowley didn’t even get out of the car, he was so ashamed to face Harriet. Why was he such a coward? He saw his sister come out of the house, hands on her hips and glaring at him. It’s like she already knew he’d chickened out. As soon as Warlock jumped out and closed the door, Crowley screeched out of the driveway, burning rubber. It was confirmation of his failure, but it didn’t matter because Crowley was going to fix it. For real this time. Before the night was over, Crowley would confess! He needed to. 

As terrified as he was about how Aziraphale might react, he could not stay in this limbo. A purgatory he created just for himself. It was nice to live in the fairytale of his mind, but he wanted to change. Crowley had made so many strides towards good changes in his life, he couldn’t fail now! He couldn’t go backwards. Plus, Aziraphale deserved the truth. He always had. So now Crowley came up with a new plan. Sit in the shop, read the book, drink the wine, give Aziraphale an honest but gentle critique as requested, and then prepare Aziraphale for the bomb he was going to drop right on his head.

Crowley spoke to himself out loud, repeating things he had practiced with Harriet and adding some new things. Seeing that blasted book in Aziraphale’s hands really threw him. Crowley hoped Aziraphale wasn’t thinking that he was capable of locking him up under his shop and, well, _murdering_ him. Aziraphale was a clever man, he’d know the difference between a work of fiction and a real human being. Still, Crowley worried. Why would Aziraphale read something he wouldn’t otherwise be interested in if he wasn’t trying to prepare himself for a possible relationship with a… a… a _nutter._

Crowley knew that in Aziraphale’s last message, he had been willing to test the waters, see if they were a good match, but now after reading that book? Crowley wasn’t so sure Aziraphale would still be interested in something romantic. And that terrified Crowley. Scared the living shit out of him. It scared him so much that he could feel himself trembling. He took in deep a breath and tried to pay attention to the road, talking to himself aloud about what street he was on, or announcing that he was breaking or turning left. Then he hit a dead stop in traffic.

“Aw, come on what now?” He growled and groaned, trying to get in between cars. Crowley wasn’t that far from the bookshop but it would be a hell of a walk if he parked where he was at. He got out of his car just to peek over traffic, as others were doing, when he saw it. A pillar of smoke, still black... meaning there was an active fire going on.

It looked ominous. Like the beginning of Armageddon. Crowley swore he felt his heart stop dead in his chest. The bookshop was in that direction, and he was pretty sure that pillar of smoke was much too close for comfort to the tinderbox that was the shop.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed. Crowley got back in the car and pulled out his mobile. He dialled the shop first but the line was disconnected. He knew that Aziraphale sometimes disconnected the landline but it did nothing to quell his mounting terror.

Crowley dialed Aziraphale’s mobile next–it went straight to voicemail.

“No-no-no-no!” He put his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes. He needed to breathe and calm down because Aziraphale was fine. It wasn’t the bookshop that was on fire. He was just catastrophising, like he always did. But it wasn’t enough. Crowley needed to get to his angel and put his fears to rest.

He parked the car in an illegal spot, turned off the engine, launched out of the driver’s seat, and began to run toward the fire.

Crowley wasn’t even halfway there when he doubled over with exhaustion. He damned his lungs and his legs. He screamed, causing people to stare at him but he didn’t care. He began to power walk, taking in deep long breaths through his nose and out through his mouth and hoped he would catch a second wind.

He didn’t have to, it turned out. Because he heard the ring of a bell before a bicycle slid to a stop beside him.

“Crowley!”

“Bookshop girl!” he wheezed. 

“Hop on!” The witch’s eyes were hard and fierce.

Crowley didn’t have to be told twice. He sat on the seat while Anathema stood on her petals and propelled them down the sidewalk.

“Please tell me it’s not the bookshop!” He wasn’t even sure why he was asking her for reassurance. 

Anathema was pale and panicked and pedalling as fast as she could. She was as anxious as he was. She knew Aziraphale was in danger the moment one of her candle’s flames flared two feet into the air. Anathema said nothing, which only made Crowley feel more panic.

The bookshop came into view along with the fire engines hosing down as much as they could. Crowley‘s heart sank. The entire shop was aflame.

“No!” he screamed. “Aziraphale!!”

Anathema slowed down and Crowley jumped off the bike, running toward the burning building. He heard the muttering from the crowd saying things like, “Poor Mr Fell.” “I hope he wasn’t in there.” “He’s always in there.”

Crowley was stopped by police officers. “Woah! Stay back for your own safety!”

“That’s my friend’s shop!” Crowley’s voice cracked. “I know the owner! Please tell me he’s not in there. Please tell me he got out. Please, please, please,” he cried.

The police officer's attention was pulled away before he could answer. Crowley’s last thread of sanity snapped. He ran right for the flames, fully intending to bust down the door and rescue his friend. He charged for the doors. “Aziraphale!” The heat of the building grew uncomfortably hot on his face–

A strong stream of water knocked him over and he was hauled away.

“No, please, wait! Aziraphale!” he yelled at the building and then faced the crowd, whipping his head in all directions. “I can’t find you! Where are you?!”

“Crowley!” Anathema ran for him. “Let him go, I’ll take care of him!”

“He’s not out here. He’s not out here,” Crowley repeated in a panic, trying to push past Anathema.

Anathema grabbed Crowley hard by the collar and dragged him down to her eye level. “As romantic as it sounds to run into a burning building for the one you love, I really doubt Aziraphale would appreciate you burning yourself to a crisp before you guys get a chance to fuck!”

Crowley blinked. “What?!”

“He’s at the hospital, you crazy idiot! They’ve already taken him to the hospital! Okay?!”

“Oh,” he breathed, his lungs working overtime. “Oh, thank God. Thank God-thank Fuck-thank Someone!”

“Come on I already called a cab.”

  
  


Crowley stared out the window of the cab but saw nothing. He was lost in his own mind, completely distraught, not knowing whether Aziraphale had suffered any injuries. Even if Aziraphale was okay physically, there was no way he would be okay emotionally. The book shop! The whole shop! His flat! His home. That fire would leave nothing behind, Crowley was sure.

“How did you know to come back?” Anathema questioned with a whisper.

“I didn’t. He asked me to come back to read his book. Oh, shit,” he said suddenly, realisation hitting him like a brick to the head. “His book!”

“Oh, shit,” Anathema mimicked.

Crowley turned sad eyes toward the witch. “I’m guessing it’s not on the cloud.”

Anathema looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “He wrote his manuscript on a typewriter.” 

Well, that answered his stupid question. Crowley cradled his head in his hands. He realised idly that he was drenched and his sunglasses were missing. He must’ve lost them when he got hit with the hose stream. Crowley’s back suddenly ached. That spray probably left bruises. He was lucky nothing broke. He wouldn’t have cared anyway.

They finally arrived at the hospital, but they were not allowed inside since they were not family. They waited very impatiently until Deidre, Arthur and Adam showed up.

“I’m Aziraphale’s cousin,” Deidre snapped at the first nurse available. 

“Oh, he’s not in a room yet ma’am.”

“I don’t bloody care!” 

It was the first time Adam had heard her curse.

Deidre was finally led through the halls.

Crowley was halfway out of his mind. He had already sent a quick text to Harriet about what happened. Harriet said she had been on her way. She would arrive at any moment. Crowley took a look at Adam and noticed his red-rimmed eyes. The poor kid. Crowley wasn’t the only one suffering.

“Hey, kid.”

Adam looked up at Crowley through his tears.

“He’s alive, okay? That’s the most important thing. Right? Right now, at this moment, he’s alive. Just focus on that.” In comforting Adam, he comforted himself. Right now was all he had–all anyone had. If he was to keep from losing his mind to grief, he needed to focus on that as well.

Adam nodded his head and hardened his eyes. “You’re right. Yeah.”

Warlock ran to his uncle first but then he saw Adam looking at him with pleading eyes. Crowley pushed him in the boy’s direction. “Go comfort your friend.”

Warlock rushed to Adam’s side and placed a tentative hand on his friend’s shoulder. They spoke in hushed voices and Adam removed Warlock’s hand from his shoulder, only to entwine their fingers together. Crowley smiled despite himself.

“Anything?” Harriet asked. She looked toward her son and furrowed her brow.

“Nothing yet. But his cousin went in there. Hopefully, she comes back to tell us something soon.”

Harriet left her eyes on the boys and softened, then she turned to her brother. “I hope he’s okay,” she said with genuine concern laced in her voice.

Crowley’s lip quivered. “Yeah, me too.”

It was about twenty minutes later when Deidre came out and held up her hands to stop everyone from surrounding her. “He’s fine.”

Everyone sighed with relief.

“He’s a bit shaken. They have him on oxygen because of all the smoke he inhaled. He has a concussion. But he’s lucid. He remembers everything that happened. There was an electrical fire, he lost his footing on the stairs, hit his head and lost consciousness. He woke up to Shadwell, the delivery man from Maggiano's, banging on the door and calling out to him. Apparently, Shadwell smelled the smoke and heard Aziraphale call out for help. He kicked the door down and got Aziraphale out of there.

Food. Food had saved Aziraphale.

Crowley would laugh if he could.

Everyone wanted to see him. Crowley was ready to jump out of his skin, he wanted to see Aziraphale so badly. But he understood family came first, and the friends who had known him longer. He would probably be the last one to see him. He paced like a caged animal nonetheless. Crowley only paused whenever the hall door opened. He was fit to strangle someone. Visiting hours were almost over when it was finally Anathema's turn. She turned to him and he could not help but beg her with his eyes.

Anathema smirked fondly. “Come on Romeo. We can go together.”

Crowley jumped to it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. But you can start calling me by my name now.” She glared at him while taking quick steps toward Aziraphale’s room.

“Thank you, Anathema,” he said seriously.

She smiled and paused at the door. “Just give me a minute alone, okay?”

Crowley deflated but nodded quickly.

She really had meant a minute, and he thanked her again before she went on her way because there were only ten left.

It was his turn. 

Crowley knocked and turned the handle at the same time, waiting for permission. He heard a weak and hoarse, “Come in.”

The sight of Aziraphale in a hospital bed, hooked up to a machine, with tubes in his nose, and a bandaged head made Crowley want to scream. But he shoved his fists into his pockets and walked to his angel’s side. 

Aziraphale smiled weakly. “Hello,” he croaked and coughed.

Crowley couldn’t speak. He frowned and nodded then looked at his shoes. He sucked in his bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. “How are you feeling,” he asked stupidly.

Aziraphale coughed lightly before rasping out a response. “I think my dignity took the brunt of it all.”

“I was really fucking worried, you know,” he snapped at him, like Aziraphale had any control over what had happened. Crowley felt shitty instantly.

Instead of defending himself and reminding Crowley that he was the victim, Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, I imagine you got quite the fright, getting to the bookshop while it was in flames. It was in flames, wasn’t it? No one wants to tell me how bad it is.”

Crowley sighed and looked Aziraphale in the eye. He saw resignation there, like he already knew his home was lost to him. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “All of it?”

“Yeah,” Crowley whispered, “I'm sorry.”

Aziraphale took a labouring breath. He coughed again. Crowley saw a pitcher of water next to his empty cup and went for it. He filled the cup and quickly handed it to his angel.

“Thank you.” Aziraphale took it and chugged it all down. He cleared his throat several times. “Looks like fate didn’t want you reading my book either,” he chuckled mirthlessly.

Crowley sighed and shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about the bloody book or about the bookshop. I need to talk about something else…”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion. “What do you want to talk about?”

Crowley lost his nerve again at the sight of those sad, hazel eyes. This was no time to confess. Aziraphale had already gone through one emotional blow. How could he dump something else on him now? “I want to talk about what I can do for you. I need to do something.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“It is for me.” Crowley gave him a stern look.

Aziraphale nodded and furrowed his brow in thought. “My parents are coming tomorrow. It would be great if you could barge in here and save me from them.”

Crowley let out a scoff and rolled his eyes. “I mean it, Aziraphale. Please give me something to do.”

Aziraphale gave him a hooded gaze. “I’m deadly serious. They’ve already threatened to take me back home with them. My mother said she was getting my old room ready.” He gave a violent shudder. “Don’t let them take me,” he whimpered like a man condemned to the noose.

Crowley sniggered. Aziraphale gave him a pleased smile for making him laugh, even if it was a brief and weak thing. After everything that had happened, Aziraphale was trying to cheer _him_ up. _My angel_. That would not do.

Aziraphale sighed deeply, eliciting another cough. Crowley refilled his cup. He sipped at it before he spoke again. “I’d rather sleep with Adam’s dog than go back to Tadfield.”

That’s right. His angel no longer had a home–or anything, for that matter. Crowley rocked on his feet and looked around awkwardly. Finally, he had the courage to look into Aziraphale’s eyes again. “You can stay at my place, if you like.”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open with a gasp.

Crowley began to splutter. “I mean, my flat is really big. And I have a spare master. Warlock uses it when he sleeps over. So you know, it’s no problem. Only if you want. Has direct access to the guest washroom… and I’m rambling….”

Aziraphale licked his lips and swallowed. “I will think about it. I really wouldn’t be a bother?”

“No. No. I’d really like you to stay with me if that’s what you want. You can work to get all your affairs in order and set up shop in my office. I know you’ll have to be dealing with insurance and all kinds of nonsense. You’ll have privacy and space. I can cook.” Crowley blushed until he felt his ears burning.

Aziraphale grinned and gave Crowley a once-over. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Crowley shrugged. “I’m all right. Pretty decent.”

Aziraphale sniggered, thoroughly amused. There was a long, quiet pause before Aziraphale nodded decisively. “If you’re certain I wouldn’t be intruding, then I’ll take you up on your offer.”

Crowley couldn’t help the bashful grin that stretched on his face. “Okay.”

A knock came at the door. A nurse poked her head in. “Visiting hours are over,” she announced. Then she left.

Crowley frowned and kicked at nothing. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Yes, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured with a small upturn to his lips. “Until tomorrow.”

There was an awkward moment and shifty eyes before Crowley noticed Aziraphale lick and bite his lip.

Crowley cocked a brow and felt heat flood him again. “So, do we kiss on the cheek now?” He chuckled and cleared his throat.

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled and he turned a lovely shade of pink. “If you like.”

In answer, Crowley leaned down and gently placed his lips on Aziraphale’s cheek. He smelled of smoke and not like his angel at all. All Crowley wanted to do was climb into that bed and curl up next to him. But he pulled away and reluctantly walked back out the door.

* * *

Crowley took a cab to his Bentley and went straight for Harrods before they could close. He made it by the skin of his teeth, which made some clerks glare at him, but once the manager realised how much he was going to spend, the man couldn’t stop smiling. Crowley barely slept the night before, preparing everything for Aziraphale’s stay. Then he woke up early, received the rest of his purchases and continued stocking up Aziraphale’s room. Crowley looked around and belatedly wondered if he’d gone overboard. Maybe he didn’t need to change the drapes or get more flowers, or drag a few of his plants in there, or buy the matching carpet, or… _I’m a fucking psychopath._ That didn’t stop him from continuing to clear the closet of his forgotten mementos. 

Crowley opened a box and found copies of his first articles from the press accompanied by the manuscripts he critiqued. He remembered having to beg Dagon to let him keep those books. In the end, he had to painstakingly make a copy for himself, using a faulty printer, page by page–

“Holy shit!” Crowley gasped and choked on his saliva as he pulled out his mobile. He scrolled through his contacts, muttering names until he reached “Lord of the Files.” His heart pounded for the world to hear and his hands trembled as the dial tone rang.

“Pick up ya arseho–”

“Whatcha wan’, prick?!”

“Dagon! Friend, pal–”

“Ya have no friends.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, listen, I need to ask you for something.”

“No, shit, really? I thought you were calling to wish me a happy Christmas.”

Crowley grinned with teeth. “I need a _huge_ favour...”

* * *

Aziraphale’s brain wanted to implode. The non-stop bickering and fussing of his parents was all but driving him mad. All he wanted was for Crowley to get his arse there as quickly as possible. Not only to save him from his parents, but because Aziraphale missed him. The thought of that kiss from the previous night, so tender, and gentle. It was the only thing that made him truly smile and feel like maybe things would be okay.

He was still in shock about the whole thing, sometimes fully expecting to just walk out of the hospital and go home to his flat. He cried many times already but his mourning was not over. He had no home. He had lost the shop that had been in his family for aeons. Adam’s inheritance had burned to ash.

The thought of going home with Crowley was a nerve-wracking one. On the one hand, he was glad Crowley offered. He had actually hoped Crowley would offer. On the other hand, he’d be living with Crowley! Like flatmates, until something changed. Would it change? It had to change.

* * *

Crowley had entered the room with flowers, a balloon, and a bag of strudels. There had been an awkward introduction to his parents. They did not hide their distaste for his friend and Aziraphale was beyond embarrassed. His parents were scandalised by the fact that Aziraphale would be going home with Crowley instead of them.

“But, sweetheart,” his mother cooed, “I cleaned out your room–”

“You mean I cleaned it out,” his father grumbled.

“And everyone in town is excited to see you!”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and let out a long exhale through his flared nostrils. “I told you not to trouble yourselves. I won’t be going back.”

“But sweetling–”

“I’m not a _child_!” Aziraphale whined like a petulant teenager, with a pout to boot.

Crowley wanted to grab his angel by the cheeks and kiss his pinched brow smooth. He watched the spectacle that was Aziraphale’s parents with great interest. He needed to know what he would have to deal with someday–

Crowley corrected his neurons that had started firing off in the direction of in-laws and wedding planning. 

With a hopeful smile, Aziraphale’s mother tried again. “You know,” she tempted, “Cynthia will be coming to town to visit. I’m sure she’d be _happy_ to see you again.” She waggled her eyebrows. “She’s _single_ now, you know?”

There was a pregnant pause before Aziraphale hit the call button in quick succession. “Security!”

“Nurse,” Crowley corrected helpfully.

“Right–NURSE!!”

A woman rushed into the room. “Everything alrigh’?”

Aziraphale gave her a forced toothy smile. “Can I go home now?” he asked through his teeth.

 _Home._ Aziraphale had said the word home. Crowley knew it meant nothing but it still made his insides all mushy and warm.

* * *

They arrived “home” in the late afternoon and Crowley was shaking in his boots. He kept tugging at his collar and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Aziraphale only showed mild signs of nerves, mostly he was quiet and staring into nothing, getting lost in thought. Crowley opened his flat door and made a grand motion for Aziraphale to go in.

Aziraphale walked in slowly like he was wandering into a lion’s den. He looked around, taking everything in. The place was spotless, dark, with sleek decor, the complete opposite of Aziraphale’s usual aesthetic. He smiled. He liked how different they were. Aziraphale hoped that meant that he and Crowley would fit like a key to its lock.

“All right,” Crowley announced as he closed the door and led Aziraphale to the living area. “The apartment is stocked up with things I thought you might need. You know toiletries, clothes, snacks.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Clothes?”

“Yeah, I bought some for you, just a few things, ya know… they’re already hanging in your closet.” Crowley cleared his throat and sniffed. “Um, anyway, let me show you around!” he said quickly while turning on his heel.

Aziraphale smiled and nodded at everything Crowley showed him, but he was still stuck on the clothes. He’d been given a plain, white, baggy shirt and white trackies at the hospital. Aziraphale had not even thought about clothes. All of his belongings were burned away. And his clothes too. He had nothing. Yet, Crowley had thought ahead and shopped for him. He had a feeling Crowley replicated some of his favourite outfits or at least tried. Aziraphale smiled. He was eager to prove himself right.

After Aziraphale mocked Crowley’s throne, Crowley laughed and finally showed him to his room.

“Your plants are lovely, Crowley,” Aziraphale praised and then his breath hitched at his surroundings. The decor was a vast contrast to the rest of the flat. 

There were plants and paintings, brown curtains similar to the ones in his flat, flowers on the night tables. There was a lovely carpet that lined the foot of the bed and matched the tan and beige style. The bed was large enough to fit three people and its frame was a deep mahogany. 

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale had to fight down tears. There was a bookcase that took up half a wall, and stretched from floor to ceiling with a rolling ladder attached to it. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had decorated the room just for him. But that was impossible. It was Warlock’s taste probably… if Warlock had the taste of a modern aristocrat. 

Crowley was bouncing and swaying in place. “I’ll let you settle in. That door leads to the bathroom. Just lock the other door that leads to the hall and consider it yours.”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, fully aware he had unshed tears in his eyes. “Thank you so much,” his voice wavered. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I’ll freshen up and meet you in the kitchen.”

Crowley nodded and closed the door on his way out.

Aziraphale choked up but did not want to cry, so he distracted himself by opening his closet. A walk-in closet! But that was not what made Aziraphale’s jaw drop. A few things, he’d said. A _few_ things! The whole damn closet was full of clothes, all in Aziraphale’s fashion, tags still on them. Shiny, brand new shoes lined one wall, much like the bookshelf outside. Aziraphale opened a drawer and found a dozen bowties. In another drawer, he found silk striped pyjamas in different colours, and in another, he found socks and briefs! There was a fluffy white dressing gown, brand new as well. The man must have spent a fortune!

Utterly bemused and entirely overwhelmed, Aziraphale walked to the bed and plopped down on it. It was then he noticed a large stack of papers on his night table with a sticky note on it. 

_Aziraphale,_

_Look what I found…_

Aziraphale lifted the note and saw the title page.

“Oh, my God…!”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh? EH? Ya like that? lol Crowley has to do SOMETHING right. lol  
> I've already started on 19... ;)
> 
> I know I need to catch up on comments but I figured you'd rather have this chapter as quickly as possible, so please forgive me! Trust that I have read EVERY single one and they ALL made me and got me through a bad couple of days!
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalaticsupertwink, my beautiful and talented beta's!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only the epilogue left after this chapter! I can't believe this is pretty much done. It feels like I just started it.
> 
> WARNING: The art in this chapter is by me and there is one that is NSFW. LEMON. SMUT. I'm keeping this at an M rating because it's not too freaky-deaky.
> 
> Thank you my Betas: Azeran, Intergalacticsupertwink, Danypooh. Thank you to my Discord group, my Insta-people, and everyone here - you've all been so supportive!
> 
> What do you guys think should be my next Ineffable Husbands fic? Human Aziraphale/Monster Crowley? Or Human Crowley/A.I. Aziraphale? I also have an idea for a Human Aziraphale/ Sex A.I. Crowley. LOL! I don't think I'll ever stop... I have a sickness.

Crowley ended up ordering takeout. He was too exhausted to cook now that the adrenaline had snuffed out. And now that Crowley was calmer and had sat down with tea, he dreaded Aziraphale's reaction to the overdone welcoming gifts. His angel had locked himself away for going on two hours now. He sighed forlornly. Maybe Aziraphale wasn't in there. Perhaps he'd realised that Crowley was an obsessed creep and climbed out the window. Perhaps he'd run to the police station and report that he had a stalker who knew everything about him, even his shoe size. Maybe he'd write another novel, no, a memoir about how Crowley tried to imprison him and made him put lotion on his skin. Then he could send in his new, sensational book to the Morningstar Press.

At that thought, Crowley wondered if Aziraphale had noticed the manuscript yet. Hopefully, that would make up for a lot of his mistakes… especially the one that Crowley had no idea how to address. How was he supposed to confess to Aziraphale now?!

"Sorry I took so long," Aziraphale muttered from behind him.

Crowley jolted and turned around, holding a hand to his chest. Aziraphale was in his pyjamas, looking freshly washed, his hair damp and flattened on his head. Crowley frowned at the puffy eyes though. He'd been crying. Crowley gave him a once over and smiled nervously. "They fit well?"

Aziraphale quirked a brow and pursed his lips. "Like a glove. You're quite perceptive, you know? You even got my underwear right."

Crowley swayed and felt his neck burn. "Lucky guess." He shrugged and changed the subject. "I ordered food. Sorry. I can cook for you tomorrow though…" his words trailed off. Aziraphale stared at him, a grave look on his face, and began walking toward him. Crowley fought the urge to cower. This was it. He'd gone overboard. It was over. Crowley closed his eyes and cringed, preparing for a good scolding or accusations.

Instead, he felt strong arms wrap around his neck, and he was pulled into a bear hug that nearly strangled him. 

Aziraphale sniffed a few times loudly before he could speak. "How will I ever repay you, my friend?" He sounded so forlorn that Crowley barely felt any shame in hugging Aziraphale's middle and squeezing. The thin layers of his and Aziraphale’s shirts almost felt like skin to skin contact. His angel was warm and soft and finally smelled right–like lavender soap and _Aziraphale_.

"So, I didn't freak you out?" Crowley muttered into wet locks.

Aziraphale chuckled and coughed. He tightened his hold on Crowley and turned his face slightly, his breath tickling Crowley's neck. "No, my dear," he laughed again. "You said you were compulsive, and now I know the extent of it." He squeezed again before leaning away and letting his eyes travel all over Crowley's bare features. They landed on Crowley's lips briefly and then profoundly into Crowley's eyes. "You're my best friend, Crowley. I think you're rather stuck with me now, quite literally, in fact."

Crowley scoffed. He'd surgically attach himself to Aziraphale if he could. He shook that thought away. Crowley felt feverishly warm all over, especially in the crotch area. He pulled away from Aziraphale before he could press him up against the nearest wall and ravage him. 

Aziraphale let Crowley go.

The buzzer shattered the moment. "Ah, that's the food, erm, be back in a tick."

They ate in silence mostly. Crowley kept noticing that Aziraphale would look up from his food and openly stare at him for long moments at a time, that same grave expression on his face that Crowley could not make heads or tails of. Aziraphale almost seemed angry, but not quite. 

Finally, Aziraphale poked at his food and spoke. "You saved my book."

Crowley ducked his head and smirked. "Actually, Adam did." He chuckled. "The press archives everything that ends up in the paper. Funny how things turned out… well, not the whole, you know, fire part..." He looked up to find Aziraphale looking into the distance with a perplexed little upturn to his mouth.

"Yes," he said softly. Aziraphale focused on Crowley. "Funny how things turned out…" he repeated. That shrewd look took over once more as Aziraphale slowly dragged his eyes over Crowley's body.

Crowley was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He had no idea what was happening, and it unnerved him. Was Aziraphale expecting something to happen? Was he just playing calm and lying about not being freaked out? Before Crowley could finally ask what the hell was going through Aziraphale's head, Aziraphale swallowed his last bite and dabbed at his lips with a napkin. 

"Crowley, might I borrow your computer? I should let some friends and peers know what's happened. Email is probably the easiest way to do it as painlessly as possible."

Crowley blinked but nodded quickly. "Of course." He led Aziraphale to the study and pulled up the guest account on his laptop. Aziraphale could not find out he was the demon by accidentally finding him logged in the forum! That would be the worst way to break the news. God knows when the right moment would present itself now because Aziraphale was basically his flatmate. He had no idea how long Aziraphale would be staying with him - he hoped forever. But if he told him the truth now, there was no guarantee that Aziraphale would take it well and then he'd have to rush to find a new place to go! No, it was best to wait…

"May I have some privacy, please," Aziraphale asked kindly.

Crowley straightened up, realising he'd been hovering over Aziraphale's shoulder. "Yeah, sorry! I'm gonna get ready for bed. Um, if you need anything, at all, please just knock. Whenever, whatever time, okay?"

Aziraphale smiled, his eyes crinkling fondly. "I will. Thank you."

Crowley showered, brushed his teeth, and then stared at himself in the mirror. "Aziraphale is in your flat. Aziraphale is _living_ in your flat. Aziraphale is… in… your… flat…" Crowley arm-pumped suddenly. "Yesssss!" Unfortunately, he saw what that had looked like in his reflection and was immediately embarrassed on his own behalf. "Idiot."

Before turning in, Crowley checked his messages on his mobile and noticed a notification from Angel.

> _Dear Demon,_
> 
> _Something's occurred. I'm living with a friend right now. I'm using his computer so I won't have access to it much, I don't think. So, please forgive any tardy replies._
> 
> _I noticed you haven't replied to my last message. I hope I didn't offend you by asking when you think you'd be ready to meet. It's entirely up to you. Even if you've changed your mind entirely, it's all right. As I've mentioned before, you'll always have me as a friend, regardless._
> 
> _Your friend,_
> 
> _Angel_

Crowley blinked and reread the message several times. Something was off. The tone was cut and dry. There were no details. "Something has occurred?" Well, fuck yeah, something occurred. His home and business burned to the ground in one sweep! Why would Aziraphale not tell his friend details? Was he too tired to explain everything? Maybe that was it. Or…

Maybe the demon had lost his chance. 

What did that mean, then? Aziraphale was choosing him over… himself.

"Fuck." Crowley tugged on his hair several times. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Before he could stop himself, he was typing. _Angel, are you still there?_

Crowley held his breath and only let it go when he saw evidence that Aziraphale was typing a reply.

> _Yes. How are you?_

Of course, Aziraphale would put his friend first.

_I'm alright. I'm not offended, at all, you know? Just nervous about the whole thing. I have other things to tell you that you should know before we meet and I don't know how to._

_Anyway, do you want to talk about what's occurred that has you staying with a friend? Are you okay?_

> _I'm not sure, to be honest, whether I'm okay or not. And no, I don't want to talk about it._

Crowley groaned at the reply. This was not how Angel spoke to Demon _._ It was as if Aziraphale had withdrawn from him altogether. "What is happening…" Crowley whispered desperately. He was losing control on all fronts and didn't know how to proceed. Before he could beg Aziraphale to explain his distant messages, Aziraphale sent another message.

> _Demon, I don't want to push you, but I need to know…_

Crowley stared, wide-eyed, at the screen, biting his lip and bouncing his legs.

> _This might be a bit forward, but, are you really still interested in me, romantically?_

Crowley fired his reply. _Yes. Yes, angel, I am. I really am. Please don't think my reluctance in meeting has anything to do with you._

> _I'll admit it's difficult not to feel that way._

"Shit!" He typed like a madman. _I'm so sorry! It's me. Really. It's all me._ The horrifying thought from before slithered it's way to the forefront of Crowley's mind. _Have your feelings changed about me?_ He'd sent his question without thinking it through. Crowley wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. Judging by the lack of typing on Aziraphale's end, Crowley was sure his angel was done with him.

> _I've met someone. We're not together or anything, but it's a high possibility he wants to be more than friends. In fact, I'm sure of it now._

Crowley's mouth fell open, and he felt his heart constrict in his chest. It was ridiculous. He felt jealous of himself! He knew the answer to his next question and wondered why he sent it at all. _Do you want him to be more than a friend?_

> _Yes._

It was like swallowing a handful of rocks for Crowley. His eyes began to burn. It should have been good news, but he felt like he was dying. His whole midsection ached, and he wanted to vomit. Crowley rubbed at his face furiously and shook his head. 

_I understand. Have I completely missed my opportunity then?_ Crowley put a hand to his mouth to smother the sob he could not hold in. Aziraphale no longer wanted the demon, which meant there was no way he'd want Crowley. Not all of him. Not with all the issues, and then some, attached to his whole being. 

Aziraphale had yet to answer or begin to type, and Crowley could not hold himself back. _Do you prefer him because he's not like me?_

That was it. It had to be it. Aziraphale had chosen Crowley, who he only knew for a short time, compared to the demon who'd he'd flirted with and bantered with for over a year. Crowley cursed himself. He had let Aziraphale make his own conjectures about his disorder, and it didn't help things by acting the hero, making himself appear to be two different people. What had he been thinking?! Now it was too late. It was really too late…

> _No, I don't prefer him because he's not like you._

Crowley frowned at the reply through his tears and gasps. He was about to ask Aziraphale to elaborate when another message came through.

> _I prefer him because he is you, Anthony Jebadiah Crowley._

Crowley had no idea how long he'd been paralysed. Everything suddenly felt odd. His surroundings seemed unreal. The message on his mobile's screen for some reason didn't disappear whenever he blinked, and Crowley couldn't understand any of it. His phone vibrated in his hand again. Crowley felt dizzy as he brought the phone closer to his face.

> _You said I could knock anytime._

Crowley squinted and tried to concentrate on the blurry words in front of him. He didn't get it. 

Three firm knocks echoed into Crowley's room.

Crowley's throat went dry. He glanced from the mobile to his door several times. He wondered if he'd really heard the knock at all. Crowley had a horrible sensation that everything in his life had been some kind of dream up to this moment, like he was in the Matrix and he was just realising it.

Crowley licked his parched lips and stood from his bed. The distance between him and the door seemed longer than usual, and the vast expanse of his room began to shrink until the door was all he could see. Crowley took a slow breath in, placed a trembling hand on the knob and turned it.

A long creak followed until Aziraphale's full form was revealed. He was still in his striped pyjamas, and soft, tartan slippers, his face was blank, but his eyes were open and searching. 

Crowley swallowed, it was the only sound he made before he finally whispered, "Hello, angel."

The corner of Aziraphale's mouth twitched before his face went expressionless again. "Hello, demon."

They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment before Aziraphale took a small step forward. "Can I come in?" Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley barely nodded but stepped aside. He watched his angel take slow steps into the room, avoiding touching him as he passed by. Aziraphale took in the space with a gradual turn of his head. Crowley closed the door, the click making him flinch. Aziraphale didn't seem phased by it or anything at all. He merely wandered over to one of Crowley's bedside plants and caressed a large waxy leaf. Without taking his eyes off the green beauty, Aziraphale spoke.

"I had fully intended to wait for you to fess up, you know?" Aziraphale uttered. He turned then and clasped his hands in front of him with a small scoff. "But you've finally reached a speed that even I can out _walk_ , cane and all."

"Shit," Crowley breathed suddenly. "I forgot to get you a cane…" he muttered, dazed.

Aziraphale's eyes widened briefly, and he blinked once, slowly. "That's what goes through your dense head right now?" He walked with ease until he was only an arm's length away from Crowley. "Crowley, can we please end this farce and just," he shook his head and shrugged, "be?"

Crowley's eyes fluttered, and his mouth slacked. "How long?" 

Aziraphale tilted his head and stepped closer, bringing his arms to relax by his sides. "How long have I known you were the demon?" He looked to the ceiling and sniggered lightly. "The first time it crossed my mind was when you plopped down in front of me at our table at the Ritz." He chuckled and brought his eyes back to meet Crowley's. "But I thought: No. Impossible. What are the odds?" He glanced sideways, remembering that evening, and he laughed again. "Then you called me angel. I didn't know for certain, but I was highly suspicious. That evening I went through all our correspondences and," a bemused grin stretched on his face, "and it all made so much _bloody_ sense. But still, I thought, maybe not impossible, but definitely _highly_ improbable." Aziraphale got closer, breaching Crowley's personal space cautiously. "Then the fair…"

Crowley remembered. "The fair…"

"Yes," Aziraphale whispered. "I knew for certain then." Slowly, so that Crowley had plenty of time to pull away, Aziraphale took one of Crowley's hands in his and looked him dead in the eyes. "Candy Apple. You never came back with one. Is that the code word? I've been so curious." He finished on a whisper.

Crowley had to swallow several times. "Apple," he confessed quietly. "Just apple." 

Aziraphale briefly smiled at his victory, then he took Crowley's other hand. Looking up at him with half-lidded hazel eyes, Aziraphale brought their entwined hands up to his mouth. "What do you want from me, Crowley?" he murmured on Crowley's shaking hands and left his lips to rest there. "What do you need for us to move on from here?"

Crowley's mouth opened, but only a breath came out. The skin where Aziraphale's lips spoke into was tingling, and it travelled up his arm, and his neck, until he swore he could feel every single strand of hair on his head. "I'll take whatever," he replied with a shrug, feeling outside of himself. "Whatever you want to give me." And he meant it. Crowley would take as little or as much as Aziraphale wished to give. He wanted anything, as long as it meant that Aziraphale stayed in his life.

Aziraphale smiled, his eyes crinkling and glinting with some mischief. "Oh, good," he all but whispered and placed a kiss on Crowley's hand and then let him go so he could cup Crowley's face in his warm palms. "Because I don't have much anymore, I'm afraid, but whatever I do have, whatever I can offer," he pulled Crowley down, their lips almost touching, "I'd like to share it all with you." 

Their lips met then.

Soft and slow, they began to move against each other until Crowley's brain caught fire, burning away every inhibition, every doubt, every stupid thing to ever cross his mind. He pushed into the kiss, and Aziraphale responded in kind.

Aziraphale pulled away, panting, but rested his forehead on Crowley's. "Better than I remember." He smiled again at Crowley's bewildered, trance-like state. "Silly demon," he admonished playfully before pulling him in for a far more passionate kiss. Between small pecks and nips all over Crowley's jaw and neck that left Crowley floating in zero gravity, Aziraphale bombarded him with questions.

"Do you really want me? Is this all right? God, what went through your thick skull when you saw me sitting there? I'm dying to know." 

Aziraphale had crowded Crowley against the door, pressing his body flush to him, leaving Crowley to throw his head back in pleasure. They panted, gasped, and groped until Crowley could hardly speak.

"I do, oh, god, I've wanted you for so long," Crowley confessed, very near hyperventilating. "I saw you at our table, and I didn't know how to feel. I was happy it was you. I was angry. I was terrified."

"Hush, hush, now," Aziraphale breathed into his neck and wrapped his arms around Crowley's waist. "I didn't understand a word you just said. But it's all right now."

Crowley laughed, feeling a bit hysterical. He noticed he was crying and his words had all come out with sobs and snivelling. "I'm sorry."

"Can I take us to bed?" Aziraphale leaned back to look at Crowley's face. Crowley could see the hope and arousal in his hungry eyes, but he also saw kindness and patience.

"Yes, angel, please."

Aziraphale beamed, then quickly grabbed onto Crowley's legs and hoisted him up easily.

Crowley yelped in surprise, feeling a moment of elation and then dipping into concern. "Aziraphale! You're gonna hurt yourself–!"

Aziraphale collapsed on top of Crowley after dropping him on the bed. "Listen here," Aziraphale exhaled loudly at feeling Crowley's hardness through their thin trousers. "I've timed this perfectly." He grinned, wickedness to his whole demeanour. "The oxycodone has peaked and will last just the right amount of time for me to fuck you senseless, with complete abandon, so," Aziraphale shuddered and then lifted himself enough for Crowley to be able to move, "up you get. Turn around. On your hands and knees, please. I'd like to finally get a look at that lovely little arse of yours." 

Crowley's eyes bugged out. Aziraphale had uttered all that filth like he was ordering a new flavour of a cheesecake–chipper and polite. "Don't you have a concussion?" Crowley gasped. "Oh, no, you're delirious. That's why you're not angry that I've basically been lying to you since the beginning. I knew this was too good to be true."

Aziraphale hung his head and sighed. "Darling, I'm in the clear. Trust me. I asked the doctor."

Crowley garbled nonsense before sputtering out a reply. "Darling?! You asked the doctor if you could have sex?! Did you just call me _darling?!_ "

Aziraphale lifted a brow and shrugged. "Obviously, I asked the medical professional if I was fit to..." he waggled his eyebrows and wiggled, "Make the Beast with Two Backs, if you catch my meaning. Do you not like 'darling'? How about, dearest?"

"Beast with two--! Y-y-y you! You. You've been planning this? You planned this? While in a hospital bed?"

"Hm," Aziraphale grew thoughtful and then looked guilty. "I guess I did," he muttered with a crooked smile.

"You're a _bastard_ ," Crowley marvelled. "An utter... _bastard_."

Aziraphale winked. "And you _love_ it," he growled and then dove into Crowley's neck for a hard bite.

"Oh, fuck!" Crowley bucked his hips, grinding their cocks together, eliciting a moan from both of them. He laughed, perplexed beyond anything. "This is really happening. I do, by the way, I love it. I fucking _love_ it!" Crowley wrapped his legs around Aziraphale and thrust upwards again. "Darling works just fine. Dearest. Whatever–you know I pegged you as a bottom?"

Aziraphale ground his hips down hard while squeezing a handful of Crowley's arse cheek. "Mm. I like bottom just as well, but I believe you've fucked me enough to last a lifetime. My turn."

Crowley barked out a laugh and then put all his weight into switching things around. Aziraphale let out a surprised giggle, which quickly turned into a choked moan as Crowley straddled him and gave a few experimental thrusts. Crowley took advantage of Aziraphale's open mouth and shoved his tongue inside. 

"Mmph! Mmmm…" Aziraphale pushed Crowley away and snapped his fingers a few times. "Time is ticking. Clothes. Off."

Crowley gave him a wolfish grin while he saluted. "Yes, sir, Major Fell." He pulled off his nightshirt and heard Aziraphale chuckle and then gasp. Crowley's smile faltered at the look of concern on his angel's face. "What?" He looked down and saw some bruises on his side. "Oh."

Aziraphale sat up to inspect. "Let me see," he murmured with an angry pinch to his brow. 

"It's nothing– _Woah!_ " Crowley was easily pinned to the bed on his stomach before he could even think of finishing the sentence. "Ssso fucking _hot_ ," he hissed into his sheets. Aziraphale's surprising strength did all kinds of things to his groin. Crowley froze at the gentle caress on his back.

"You daft man," Aziraphale scolded. "Anathema told me you were hosed down for trying to run into the building." Crowley didn't have anything to respond to that, so he stayed quiet, revelling in the soft touch on his flaming skin. "Don't ever do anything that stupid again." Aziraphale began a slow trail of kisses down Crowley's bony spine until he reached the hem of his trousers.

"Ngh-wait!" Crowley squirmed to lay on his side. "I want to see you too."

Aziraphale gave him an indulgent smile and pulled his shirt over his head. "I hope you like rolls," he grumbled. Before Aziraphale could finish, a scrambling Crowley lunged face-first into his gut and then latched his teeth into a love handle. Aziraphale yelped and gave his ginger head a gentle smack. "Menace! Get out of there!" 

Crowley sniggered, a roll of soft skin still in his mouth. He let go and kissed the bite mark that he left behind in between his rambling. "I love your rolls... I love your bastardness... I love everything about you... all of you, I love you." 

Crowley froze when he realised that he'd said that rush of honesty aloud. He looked up and found Aziraphale's mouth hanging open in shock. "Uh… ah. Well. There it is," Crowley said nervously. He let out a weak chuckle and cleared his throat when Aziraphale continued to stare at him open-mouthed. "Don't tell me that saying I love you is what finally ends this." He grimaced, waiting for the guillotine to drop.

"You're a wonder," Aziraphale whispered reverently. He shifted closer and took Crowley's chin in his fingers. He tilted Crowley's face to look at him before placing a tender kiss on his lips. "I was in love with you before we even met," he chuckled on his lips.

Crowley swallowed thickly, closed his eyes, and smiled. "Me too."

"Now, where's the lube?"

Crowley's eyes shot open. "Wow." After shaking off his momentary shock, Crowley crawled to his night table. "Shouldn't we, like, talk first?" He rummaged through his drawer and tossed the lube over his shoulder onto the bed. "I mean, are you sure you can handle me and my issues?" He had to dig deeper for the condoms and had a moment of panic when he didn't find them right away. "Because, I can be a bit much–gotcha," he grabbed the condom, turned around, and nearly fell off the bed when he found Aziraphale standing at the foot of the mattress, entirely naked, hard cock swaying between his glorious thighs, folding his pyjamas neatly.

"Yes, darling, I'm aware," Aziraphale said drily and set his clothes on the dresser and began climbing into bed. "If I can handle a hundred and twenty soldiers– "he realised that Crowley was gaping at him. "I'm not usually shy, but if you keep staring at my cock like that–"

"Gah-ngh–ngfk-fuck!" Crowley snarled and practically tackled Aziraphale into the pillows. They snogged with Crowley on top again, hellbent on soaking his trousers before taking them off. "How do you want me, angel, I'm, uh, usually the _aggressor_ ," he panted on Aziraphale's pink-stained chest.

Aziraphale carded his fingers through copper locks, grabbed a fistful of hair, and pulled Crowley up to his mouth. "Just get naked, dearest, and I'll _handle_ all of you and your issues until you scream for mercy."

" _Yesssss…_ " Crowley scrambled, tugging and kicking his pyjama bottom's off awkwardly but quickly. 

Aziraphale's hand shot out and grabbed Crowley's free cock. Crowley shouted and then groaned when Aziraphale pulled him gently, thumbing his wet tip at the same time. "You're positively gorgeous, love. Tell me what you like," he begged, his voice low and deep.

Crowley refused to acknowledge the high pitched whine that escaped his traitorous gob. He also ignored the slurred gibberish that came out as well.

Aziraphale smirked. "My flustered demon," he murmured affectionately. "Would you like me to taste you? I know I'd very much like to."

Crowley shut his eyes hard and shook his head.

Aziraphale pouted and was about to ask why not when Crowley began to inch downwards, dragging his hot mouth over his chest, his belly, his thighs. Pausing over Aziraphale's crotch, Crowley lifted his gaze, his eyes alone screaming for permission. "Oh, yes, please do go on," Aziraphale encouraged.

Crowley didn't wait or take his time, he took Aziraphale into his mouth and moaned. Aziraphale threw his head back and cursed when he felt Crowley's mouth salivate. The demon kept moaning around his cock, which nearly sent Aziraphale spiralling into oblivion. 

Crowley couldn't think straight. It was all sensations fighting over one another and never landing on one thing. The taste of Aziraphalel, Crowley's own cock throbbing, Aziraphale's moans, the musky scent of their arousal hovering around them, the sight of undiluted pleasure on Aziraphale's contorted face. Crowley tensed at the rush of pleasure that went straight to his cock. He wondered if he could come untouched, he never had before. He probably could have, especially when Aziraphale grabbed his hair and took control of his pacing. He slowed Crowley down and pulled him up, then watched himself disappear back in Crowley's mouth. 

"Oh, you're beautiful," Aziraphale panted. When Crowley hollowed his cheeks and swirled his tongue, Aziraphale had to pull out before coming undone. "And a wicked thing," he rasped and chuckled. "My turn now." He tasted himself on Crowley's lips before placing a hand on Crowley's chest and firmly pushing him down into the pillows.

Crowley watched for as long as he could, but the sight of Aziraphale sucking in one of his testicles was one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen. "Holy shit." He saw stars and had to take in deep breaths. Aziraphale was slower in taking his pleasure, but it wasn't long before he felt the warmth of Aziraphale's mouth wrap around him. "Oh, holy shit."

Crowley could barely enjoy himself, he was working so hard on not coming. Just as he was about to beg Aziraphale to stop, Aziraphale pulled off with an obscene pop and abruptly pushed Crowley's legs up, damn near folding him in half. Before Crowley knew what he was up to, Aziraphale went in for the kill. Crowley shouted a string of nonsensical oaths while Aziraphale ate him out like he was fine cuisine.

"Oh, for-fucks-sake-angel-fuck!"

Aziraphale emerged, rubbing his glistening mouth and chin with the back of his hand. He was sweating, curls damp again, cheeks scarlet, chest heaving. Without saying a word, Aziraphale leaned over Crowley and snatched the lube and condom. 

Crowley was still recovering when he heard the _squirt_ from the bottle. He shivered with anticipation. Crowley pulled up his hands and covered his face with his palms. He took in deep studying breaths.

"Are you ready, love?" Aziraphale whispered as he kneaded Crowley's thighs and cheeks.

 _Love._ "Yes, Crowley breathed out in a huff.

He heard another squirt and then felt Aziraphale's hands spread him open, a delicate cool finger made Crowley flinch, but he immediately steadied himself, breathing in deeper and slower. It had been a very long time since anyone had given him any attention there. Usually, Crowley felt too possessive to just lie down and let his lovers do what they wanted with him, always eager to please his partners instead and sometimes even at his expense. But Aziraphale had a commanding way about him that sent tingles from Crowley's scalp to his bollocks. It was hot even when his angel was being polite and soft, especially so. Crowley wanted this. He wanted to feel Aziraphale fill him completely.

Crowley paid particular attention to Aziraphale's care and speed. He wanted to return the favour and do it right. Crowley always wanted to do right by Aziraphale, and he hoped he would. 

Crowley began to moan and writhe as Aziraphale worked him open. When he felt the fingers withdraw, Crowley shut his eyes hard, expecting the blunt tip of a cock next. But instead, Aziraphale climbed up his body, peppering kisses along the way until he reached Crowley's mouth. Aziraphale sent his hand down and stroked Crowley's cock while at the same time invading his mouth again. After everything Aziraphale had done to him, with that mouth. It was a pleasant surprise to know his sweet angel was so filthy in bed. 

Aziraphale pulled back, an open and tender look in his eyes. He loved Crowley. He loved him so much he didn't know what to do with himself at that moment, staring at those beautiful amber eyes that were so clouded with lust and love. To think that they could have been doing this so much sooner! Aziraphale had fully intended to take Crowley hard and fast from behind, but the eyes looking up at him and those red-stained lips made Aziraphale want nothing more than to keep staring and memorise every twitch of pleasure on his lover's features.

When Crowley whispered his name, Aziraphale was filled with an overwhelming sensation to meld their bodies together, cradle Crowley to his heart and just keep him there. The man needed love as much as Aziraphale did, maybe even more so, and Aziraphale wanted to give it to him. He wanted to give it all to him.

Crowley murmured hoarsely. "Is something wrong?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Can I keep you like this, on your back? I want to see your face."

Crowley nodded. "I want to see you too, angel," he whispered back.

Aziraphale smiled fondly, his eyes alight, his mouth showing a flash of white teeth. "Let's get you comfortable then." Aziraphale lifted himself up, immediately missing the warmth of Crowley's skin. He grabbed one of the pillows, and Crowley arched his back, lifting his bum so that Aziraphale could place a pillow under him and alleviate the pressure on Crowley's bruised back.

"If it's painful or uncomfortable at all…" Aziraphale warned.

"Don't worry about me, angel."

"No, Crowley, promise you'll say something."

"I will, I will, come on, come on," Crowley hurried.

Aziraphale chuckled but hooked his hands under Crowley's knees and pushed his legs up as he'd done before. He adjusted between Crowley's legs.

Crowley threw an arm over his eyes.

"None of that," Aziraphale scolded gently. "Why don't you put your hands to better use?" he purred. Crowley removed his arm and quirked a brow. He caught Aziraphale's meaning and sent his hands to hold his legs up against himself so that Aziraphale's arms were free.

"Ready?"

Crowley nodded again on a whimper.

Slowly, Aziraphale pushed, holding his breath, listening to Crowley groan and watching sweat bead on his lover's forehead. Aziraphale didn't stop but slowed his progress until he felt no more resistance. Then he pushed a little deeper knocking the wind out of them both.

"Oh, you feel lovely darling," Aziraphale complimented.

Crowley simply mewled and squirmed. When Aziraphale didn't move, Crowley opened his eyes and gasped out, "You feel good too."

"I'm going to move now."

"Oh, God, yes, please."

Aziraphale started with slow, shallow thrusts. More than the act of lovemaking, watching Crowley's eyes roll up under his eyelids, and watching his mouth drop open with pleasure was what Aziraphale swore would undo him. He wanted it to last, to savour it. But it had been a long time for both of them, and Aziraphale wasn't so sure he could keep the slow pace for much longer. He had been wanting Crowley for so long. 

The moment he realised that Crowley was the demon, so many thoughts and feelings had taken hold of him. There was a sense of betrayal, apprehension, and disbelief, sure, but the feeling that won over the others was a jittery sense of elation. His fingers had twitched every time he found himself in Crowley's presence. With his newfound knowledge, he had ached to just reach for Crowley and show him how happy he was to know that the men he'd been falling in love with were one and the same. It was such a relief, such a joy, that Aziraphale could barely contain the frantic need to show Crowley just how much he desired him.

So it wasn't long before Aziraphale picked up the pace, drawing back further and further, pushing in faster and harder, leaving Crowley a panting, moaning, sweaty mess beneath him. When Crowley jolted and made a new, lovely sound, Aziraphale knew he had hit the right spot and adjusted it appropriately. After that, he could barely stand to listen to Crowley for much longer, he was going to explode. When he knew he wasn't going to last, Aziraphale took Crowley in hand and began to stroke him at the same rhythm of his thrusts that quickly became frantic. 

Aziraphale let himself go, howling and yelling out God knows what filth, and telling Crowley he was beautiful, lovely, a picture of clandestine beauty. Aziraphale's hips stuttered, and he felt his tightening muscles screaming for relief. He fell over Crowley, one arm beside his head, and moaned right into Crowley's ear as he came undone with his final thrusts. 

"Oh, _Anthony!_ "

At hearing his name on such a lewd cry, Crowley shouted as ecstasy took over, Aziraphale pumped through both their orgasms, leaving both their bodies trembling and soaked.

They rested in each other's arms, catching their breath, and caressing one another. 

"Fuck," Crowley croaked, "that was amazing." He could hardly believe what they had done. 

Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgement and kissed into the crook of Crowley's neck. "You're lovely, Anthony Crowley, my dear demon." 

Crowley was too blissed-out to blush at the embarrassing praise. "You live here now, you know that, right?"

Aziraphale laughed breathily, lifted himself, and smiled down at this lover who was gazing at him like he'd hung the stars. "Yes, I rather believe you've made that exceedingly clear, love." He raked his fingers through Crowley's damp tresses. 

Crowley leaned into his touch and narrowed his eyes with determination. "You're going to get everything you lost back, Aziraphale, and I want to help you do that."

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? How do you plan to help me do that?"

Crowley shrugged and smiled smugly. "I believe I still have a book to read. And I have a feeling it's going to blow me away, almost as well as you have."

Aziraphale shook his head but laughed with genuine mirth. 

"And," Crowley grew serious and cupped his lover's cheek, "something tells me that everyone is going to want your book on their shelves."

"Oh, stop it," Aziraphale flushed and tried to get away.

"AND!" Crowley chuckled and wrestled Aziraphale until his angel was beneath him, giggling like a tinkling bell. "They'll make a film about it."

"Ridiculous," Aziraphale huffed but couldn't smother his beaming smile. "And, yet, right now," he admitted with his own sincere expression, "I think I might believe you."

"I've got a nose for these things," Crowley purred as he nuzzled into Aziraphale's jaw. "And your next book will be even more sensational."

"Really?" Aziraphale let out playfully. "I guess you know what my next book is too then? Not even I know that."

"Absolutely, I know what it's going to be about."

"Pish-posh! But go on, I'm curious."

"It's going to be a romance–"

Aziraphale gasped long and loud with faux surprise.

Crowley smirked, "And it's going to be about an angel... and a demon…"

Aziraphale closed his eyes and bit his widening lip. "Well, now," he whispered and opened his glistening eyes, "I think you're actually on to something…"

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am way behind on comments and feeling a bit overwhelmed. I read every single one and they all put a smile on my face.
> 
> I have been blown away by the response for this fic. It's been a lovely journey and I'll get started in the epilogue!


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your patience. I know I slow down towards the end of fics. I was slow down even more because my wrist and hand is not better. In fact I think there's something fractured. I finally have an appointment with a specialist this week. So I've been doing very little writing. I did find a way to speech to text on my iPad on the Grammarly iPad app recently, which made writing this epilogue much easier than all the other chapters. So that has lifted my spirits considerably because now… I can work on my next Ineffable Husbands fanfiction! So if you want to be notified about when I'll be posting that, make sure to subscribe to me as an author right here on archive of our own. 
> 
> Thank you Azeran, Intergalacticsupertwink, and Danypooh for betaing this chapter!!
> 
> WARNING: there is NSFW content in this chapter. TOP CROWLEY. LEMON.

> @booklover387: Is it true that A.Z. Fell and A.J. Crowley got MARRIED?! When did this happen? Didn't Crowley try to ruin his career????
> 
> @snidecommentor: Yep. That's what the Morningstar Press said. Can't believe it. He married the biggest wanker on the planet.
> 
> @chicklit4ever: I was shocked, myself. That Crowley really boils my blood. No respect for the romance genre and then somehow he's married to the most popular romance novelist?! I mean, was Fell brainwashed? When did they even start dating? It has to be fake news.
> 
> @angelcrepes75: I think it's quite romantic, actually.
> 
> @demoneyes666: You would, you softy! No surprise there! I'll believe it when I see it with my own eyes! Crowley was the only critic I respected. He was a menace to the romance genre and my hero.
> 
> @angelcrepes75: Oh, yes, such a menace. Evil to the core. No possible way that such a vile serpent would be interested in marrying anyone, let alone a hereditary enemy. Which makes it even more romantic.
> 
> @demoneyes666: Disgusting. Your hopeless romantic heart has always rubbed me the wrong way.
> 
> @angelcrepes75: I can rub you in other ways, if you prefer.
> 
> @demoneyes666: I would prefer it. Crowley is hard and firm in his opinions and doesn't deserve for his reputation to be tarnished this way.
> 
> @angelcrepes75: You're absolutely right, demon. Those hard and firm opinions can be put to good use, however. 
> 
> @demoneyes666: Oh? You don't think they've been put to good use already?
> 
> @angelcrepes75: Perhaps. Though I can think of a myriad of other places where Crowley can stick his hard and firm opinions.
> 
> @demoneyes666: You mean up his arse?
> 
> @angelcrepes75: Or mine.
> 
> @demoneyes666: I have to go. Great talking to you all, as usual. 
> 
> @angelcrepes75: Regrettably, I must also be off. I have a meating to attend to.
> 
> @demoneyes666: Meeting**
> 
> @angelcrepes75: No.
> 
> @snidecommentor: ... (⚆_⚆)
> 
> @booklover387: What just happened?

* * *

Aziraphale bit into his pillow as Crowley pumped mercilessly into him, only clamping his jaws to shout in ecstasy. He was face down with Crowley on his back, huffing and grunting in his ear with the occasional kiss lick or bite to his neck. His demon was whipping his hips to the beat of Bohemian Rhapsody, Aziraphale couldn't care less for the bebop; in fact, he couldn't even hear it and paid it absolutely no mind. 

He could feel Crowley's sweat dripping onto his shoulders, slipping between their bodies with the friction. Ever since he and Crowley finally got together, Aziraphale's sex life had never been better. And that's saying something, because he was a wild one back in the day. There were things he discovered in bed with Crowley that he never even imagined finding within himself. One of those things being that Aziraphale very much preferred being a bottom, and not only that…

"How's my gorgeous pillow princess doing, huh?" Huffed Crowley, right into Aziraphale's ear. 

Oh, how Aziraphale hated that term, but that's exactly what he discovered he was! And it was Crowley's fault, bless him. The man enjoyed spoiling him in every area of their lives together, especially in bed. Aziraphale found that he didn't mind it at all; all the attention was actually rather perfect for him. He was never left wondering whether he was still loved, or still attractive, still wanted. Aziraphale loved being spoiled, being indulged, and being worshipped. No one had ever given him the attention that Crowley could give him.

Crowley continued rasping all kinds of dirty things for Aziraphale to hear, and it was making his pleasure rise and stretch until Aziraphale felt he was about to fall or snap. For a moment, he wondered if his neighbours would complain again. Their bed frame was knocking into the wall, and they had moved it further away this time around! He found that he didn't care. Aziraphale loved it rough. He wondered how Crowley had the stamina to continue giving while Aziraphale took.

It worried him sometimes. Crowley never liked asking him to do anything. Even in bed, Crowley didn't make too many requests. He loved the sex, that was clear. So Aziraphale would have to remind himself every day to indulge Crowley and things he enjoyed. Crowley didn't like being separated from Aziraphale for too long. Again, that was something Aziraphale didn't mind. He had felt so alone for so long that Crowley's near-constant company was more of a blessing than a curse. 

Ever since their wedding and the launch of Crowley's new business, things had gotten a little easier for Crowley. He no longer showed that frantic desperation for Aziraphale to love him. It had been a long time already since the last time Crowley accused him about leaving him someday.

Aziraphale's consoling was always the same. When Crowley got too frantic, too possessive, too despondent about whether he was being too much to be loved, Aziraphale would take him into his arms and hold him until Crowley came down from his anxiety. And Crowley was always there for him when Aziraphale experienced his own episodes. Aziraphale made sure to tell Crowley every day, as many times as he could remember, how much he adored his husband.

And he meant it, every single time. Aziraphale was quite positive that his feelings would never change. Would they evolve? Of course. But Crowley was the one, and he was not going to let him go, not even when Crowley would start to spiral into self-destruction. 

Aziraphale didn't have to worry so much about those things now. The day Aziraphale got down on his good knee in the middle of a book signing, that was the day Aziraphale noticed a visible difference in Crowley's overall demeanour. 

There was more confidence in all of his actions, actually- he smiled a lot more, sulked in silence a lot less, and had a lot more confidence in his walkCrowley had been on a natural high for months, and nothing could bring him down.

Did Crowley nearly unravel the day of the wedding? Of course. But that was nothing that a quickie in a closet couldn't fix before their nuptials. And what a quickie that had been! It was a miracle nobody heard them!

But Aziraphale wasn't thinking about any of that right now. The only thing he was thinking about was how warm, and wet Crowley's skin was. The warmth in his own belly pooling downward straight to his cock, which desperately wanted attention. As if Crowley had read his mind, Aziraphale felt his fingers dig into his hips before Crowley pulled him back onto his cock. The deep jolt from the new angle elicited a loud groan from deep in Aziraphale's chest. Before he could even recover entirely, Crowley sent a hand beneath him, wrapping his hot fist around his equally hot cock, and began to stroke frantically. 

They both cursed up a storm right before Aziraphale keened and spilt over Crowley's hand. But Crowley was relentless. He continued pumping until Aziraphale was mindless and pleading for him to stop. But stop wasn't the safe word, and both of them knew it. Aziraphale loved the post orgasm torture, and according to Crowley, the sounds he made could probably make Crowley come undone untouched. 

"Oh, god, Crowley! Oh, fuck! You're amazing! Exquisite! Fucking good--"

Aziraphale's cries were high-pitched and frenzied until Crowley came with a shout and pumped even faster into his husband. Crowley collapsed on top of his angel and panted as he came down from his high.

When he was finally able, Crowley murmured sweet nothings into Aziraphale's ear and stroked his damp curls. He peppered his sweaty cheek with wet kisses. Aziraphale hummed through the remnants of his daze.

"I love you, angel," Crowley whispered. He slipped out of Aziraphale who whined his disapproval. Crowley chuckled. Even when Aziraphale was tapped out completely, it seemed it was never enough. But he knew he was more than satisfied and beyond worn out. 

"Come on, love" Crowley crooned. "Your meeting with the publisher is in an hour, and you know how you're late to everything.

Aziraphale groaned. "I am punctual. I am a punctual person," he slurred. Reluctantly, Aziraphale turned over and peered up at his husband. "You know I could've cancelled, rescheduled, right? I thought we weren't going to work today." Aziraphale reached up to cup Crowley's cheek and pull him down into a tender kiss. When he pulled away, Aziraphale made sure he had his best pout on his face.

Crowley immediately started laughing. "It's not my fault you're a renowned author that publishers and agents are clamouring for."

"Actually it is," Aziraphale retorted. 

"Hey, all I did was send it to a few people. They loved it because you wrote it. Because you," Crowley bent over and peppered kisses all over Aziraphale's pouting face," are a fantastic, talented, genius author.

Aziraphale turned his face away slightly with a shy smirk. When he looked back at Crowley, he was staring down at him with such love that Aziraphale couldn't help but wrap his arms around Crowley's neck and passionately stick his tongue down his throat.

When he finally had his fill, Aziraphale sighed dejectedly. "But it's our anniversary!"

"Is not!" Crowley cried.

"Well, it's the anniversary of when we were supposed to meet at the Ritz!"

Crowley smiled wickedly. "Is it really?"

Aziraphale could see through the façade and gave Crowley a gentle but admonishing push. "You've planned something, haven't you?"

Crowley shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "Maybe," he drawled out with a wink.

Aziraphale scoffed and shook his head. "Menace." Aziraphale let Crowley drag him out of bed and into the shower.

As Crowley climbed down the stairs, he looked over the bannister and sighed with content. The smells of the flowers, the dirt, the bright greenery covering the entire shop filled him with a sense of peace that he never thought he could have. Meeting Aziraphale had changed everything for him, and he could not be happier.

It had taken two years to get things in order. Harriet had come up with the brilliant idea of buying half of Aziraphale's lot and rebuilding the shop for their new business. The bookshop around the corner no longer existed, but Eden's Garden stood gloriously in its place.

Although Aziraphale was sad to give up on the idea of owning a bookshop again, it freed up his time to work on the multitude of novels he had always wanted to write. Crowley had made sure that when the second floor was being designed, built-in bookshelves would be on every wall. All of Aziraphale's favourite books and new purchased first editions now lined the flat's walls above with no danger of being sold. And Aziraphale liked that fact the most. Although every once in a while, the husbands would have the occasional row about Aziraphale's hoarding habits and general disorganization, there was nothing that couldn't be figured out as long as they did it together. The solution, as it happened, came from Anathema, who was now Aziraphale's personal assistant. She had grown tired of their bickering over the same issues and hired some cleaning and organizational help. Although it didn't solve the every day, small messes, at least once a week, everything was always put back to order. As for Crowley's constant hovering, Anathema also had a solution for that, stealing her boss away to different places to get his work done, or kicking Crowley out behind Aziraphale's back. Crowley had the good sense and enough self-preservation to listen to the witch. He managed to give Aziraphale the space he needed but usually never asked for.

But the shop kept Crowley busy enough, and he loved his plants, loved digging his fingers into soil, spritzing and watering, and peaceful days. He operated the counter in the mornings, when there were fewer chances of having to deal with customers, and his newly hired employee, Newton Pulsifer, worked the counter in the afternoons when he wasn't too busy drooling over Anathema.

Crowley always felt a little guilty whenever he remembered he was against hiring Newton in the first place. He didn't want another man around, not wanting to risk his jealous side coming out, but Harriet assured him that Newton was as straight as a tightrope. Crowley's worries were put to rest the day Anathema walked through the shop doors somehow causing Newton's jaw to drop and tripping arse first onto a cactus.

Still, Crowley couldn't control everything. Since Aziraphale's rise to fame, the occasional fan would go up for signing and flirt. Somehow, Crowley could reel in his jealousy most of the time. Still, Aziraphale seemed always to take note of those incidents and soothe Crowley's insecurities by lavishing him with attention or teasing him just enough to get them into bed. Apparently, Aziraphale was quite into jealousy sex.

They were married now. The morning press had made sure to make it seem like a scandal, and apparently, no one had forgotten Crowley's faux pas. Everyone knew they were together now, and most were flabbergasted by the knowledge. They didn't care; in fact, Aziraphale was chuffed to bits every time someone brought it up. Now, when they were seen at book signings together, or conventions, the sappy romance fans would gosh about how romantic their story was. And although Crowley made a show of being the prickly, sour, git, it was all ignored, and no one believed his act for a moment as long as Aziraphale was near him. Besides, it wasn't his fault he got all sappy and pathetic around the love of his life!

Crowley snapped out of his musings when Aziraphale finally emerged. Crowley tried to convince Aziraphale to put in a built-in stairs assistance, a small lift of some kind, but Aziraphale would have nothing of it. After a few arguments about that, Crowley was finally able to convince Aziraphale to use the top-of-the-line knee brace and a panic button that discreetly hung on a chain with his pocket watch.

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale lamented in a slight panic, "I'm late!"

"I won't say I told you so," chided Crowley through a smirk. 

Aziraphale glared at him as he donned his coat and messenger bag, heading to the door. "Because you know better."

Crowley chuckled and nodded. He opened the door for his husband and pulled him into a deep kiss before letting him go. Anathema was already next to a hired car, arms crossed, and tapping her foot impatiently.

"I'll see you very soon, love," Aziraphale assured him like he always did. "By the way, at what time am I supposed to be back for your plans." He grinned bashfully.

Crowley narrowed his eyes and frowned. "What plans?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "You are terrible, demon."

Crowley grinned. "And you’re gorgeous, angel."

"Charmer."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head over my plans. I’ve got it all under control." 

Aziraphale eyed him warily. "That's what worries me." He muttered before he turned on his heel and stalked to the impatient and cross Anathema.

"Cheeky bastard!" Crowley managed to get in before Aziraphale disappeared into the car with a mischievous smile.

"I love you too, dearest!" Aziraphale shouted out right before he shut his door, getting the last word, as usual.

Crowley laughed and watched the car drive away. As soon as he entered and closed the shop door, Adam and Warlock popped up from behind the till.

"I thought you said you weren't going to tell him anything!" exclaimed Adam.

Crowley waved dismissively. "Nothing gets past your godfather, you know that."

"Yeah," Warlock conceded with a sagely nod. 

Crowley smiled. It was obvious that Warlock was talking about the not so subtle push from Aziraphale into Adam's lips. No, it was a literal push with a muttered: "Get on with it already." In Aziraphale defence, the two boys were driving everyone mad with their tiptoeing around everyone, including themselves.

"So, what's the word?" Crowley inquired.

"Bird." Warlock sniggered. It earned him a small smack to the back of the head by his uncle. "No," Warlock laughed, "but really, a bird did shit on the tux."

Crowley threw his hands up. "What?! Wasn't it protected by some kind of wardrobe protection shield thing?"

Adam snorted. "You mean a dust jacket?" 

"Or a garment bag?" Warlock added hopefully.

Crowley growled. "Yes, yes, yes, that. They already took forever with the dry cleaning, how long is this going to set me back?"

Adam shook his head and grinned. "It won't." He pulled two large garment bags from behind the counter and handed them to a relieved Crowley. "There's the shit by the way." Adam pointed.

Crowley grinned in victory. "Nice job, boys," he praised them. Now on to phase two."

The three of them looked at each other knowingly and smiled.

* * *

Aziraphale hated this part of being an author. He despised going to meetings just as much as he disliked dealing with customers when he used to be a bookshop owner. That life seemed so long ago, but it had only been two years. The insurance money helped with the rebuilding, and the advance that his previous publisher granted him helped pitch in with Crowley's bills and rent. Once the flower shop and the flat were ready for occupancy, Crowley began talking about selling his flat in Mayfair. It was a wise decision since the first year of opening Eden's garden would've been more stressful without that extra cash in hand.

Although it was probably smarter for them to live separately, the honeymoon stage of their relationship won out, and they continued living together when they moved into Aziraphale flat. Well, their flat now. 

_Married_ , Aziraphale mused with a soft smile. His parents had a field day. Their wedding was a small affair, and Aziraphale was glad of it. He did not invite his parents to the actual ceremony, but they did show up for the little party they threw. As expected, Aziraphale's parents treated the party as if it was somebody's birthday or definitely something less momentous.

Aziraphale found that he didn't really care anymore. He accepted that his parents could never accept parts of him just like he could not accept parts of them. As long as they stayed off the topic, they got along well with Crowley. But they treated Crowley like he was a friend and not his husband. It didn't bother Crowley apparently. 

"Mr Fell? Mr Fell? 

Aziraphale snapped out of his musings. "Forgive me, what was that?"

"All we need is for you to look at the book cover. What do you think? Great right?"

Aziraphale knew it was a rhetorical question. He knew they didn't care what he thought about the book cover. He was not about to pretend he knew anything about the marketing aspect of things, leave that to the professionals.

"Yes," Aziraphale nodded and smiled, "beautiful work."

"Well, we're glad you like it. It tested really well."

A ping sounded off from Aziraphale's phone. "Oh, I'm sorry I thought I put it on vibrate."

"Not a problem Mr Fell. Our meeting is done! We’ll let you get back to real life."

"Thank you so much." When Aziraphale held up his phone, he noticed it was a notification from the book forum. Someone had messaged him. He opened up the application on his smartphone that Crowley insisted he get for safety reasons and smiled when he saw it was a message from Crowley. Or rather, from @demoneyes666.

> _Hello gorgeous. I was wondering if you'd like to meet finally. I know you're taken now, but maybe if we meet in person, I might sweep you off your feet yet. Steal you away from that pompous but very handsome man of yours._

Aziraphale smiled broadly and blushed. "Silly demon." He thought about his reply and then began to type.

_Well doesn't this feel like déjà vu? I'm afraid I must tell you I'm quite happily married now. But I see no harm in meeting a friend. When and where would you like to meet? I warn you, my husband is the jealous type._

> _If I had you on my arm, I'd be the jealous type too! Is today a good day?_

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. _I'm quite a busy man, but I suppose I can make some time._

> _Oh, good. I've hired a car for you. Should be waiting for you after your meeting._

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up with surprise. He put his phone away and nearly tripped over himself, trying to get out of the room.

As soon as he exited the building, Aziraphale looked around and frowned. Anathema was waiting for him by the car he had arrived in. But there was no other sign that someone else was waiting for him.

Anathema smiled and waved him over. 

"Mr Fell," Anathema exclaimed with a smile, "your car awaits!" 

"Oh, you're in on this too?" He couldn't help the smile that bloomed on his face. "And Crowley said he wasn't a romantic."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." When Aziraphale approached to get into the car, Anathema stopped him. "No not this car. That one." Anathema pointed behind Aziraphale.

He turned around to see a limo turning around the corner and coming towards them. "Oh, for goodness sake. Flash bastard. Not the romantic indeed!" Aziraphale chided with no bite whatsoever. He wiggled in place in excitement when the limo pulled up and parked. The door opened, revealing Adam, in a smart suit holding a garment bag and smiling.

"Hello, Mr Fell. I have your tuxedo ready for you.

"My tuxedo?" Adam handed over the garment bag and motioned for Aziraphale to get into the limo.

"You can change in the car, sir."

Aziraphale shook his head, completely bewildered but grinning ear to ear. He took the garment bag and thanked Adam softly with a hug before he entered the car.

Adam closed the door for him, and Aziraphale looked around. It was very spacious, and there was a note on the seat next to him.

_Angel, I hope the tux is to your liking. I'm so looking forward to seeing you._

_Yours, Demon_

His eyes were already beginning to betray him, filling up with unshed tears. When he opened the bag, he gasped. It was a beautiful tuxedo, very much in his style. The box contained new cufflinks, a tartan tie, brown leather shoes, A rose and a copy of Lord of the Rings.

Aziraphale sniffed and felt the tears finally roll down his cheek.

Once he was finished changing inside the car, he knocked on the window and informed the driver he was ready. Aziraphale had a feeling he knew exactly where they were going, and he wasn't wrong. It felt like an eternity before they finally arrived at the Ritz. His heart was hammering in his chest, which he found utterly ridiculous. He and Crowley had been together for two years now! And recently married! There was no reason to be nervous, but he was. He swallowed hard, took his cane, his book, and his rose and exited the car. 

Upon arriving at the restaurant's lobby, the same man who had greeted him the last time smiled brilliantly and gave him a respectful little bow.

"Hello Sir, my name is Gabriel, welcome to the Ritz! Do you have a reservation?" Gabriel winked exaggeratedly.

Aziraphale chuckled and nodded. "Yes, in fact. I believe you'll find the reservation under Angel or Demon?"

"Oh yes, Gabriel made a show of flipping through pages and dragging his finger down a list. "Here we are! Right this way, if you please!"

Gabriel led him to a table that was already lined with appetizers and champagne. Crowley was nowhere to be found.

"Goodness! This is lovely," Aziraphale breathed.

"The only lovely thing here is you, angel," came the drawl of his husband from behind him.

Aziraphale whirled around. "Anthony!" He gave him a watery smile.

Crowley gasped and held his hand to his chest right next to the rose pinned to his lapel. "Major Fell?! What are the odds?!"

Aziraphale let out a scoff but could not hide his glee. "How long have you been planning this, wily serpent?”

Crowley smiled, crooked teeth glistening with all the happiness in the world. "I really wanted to do this last year. But you were going through a lot. And the business had just taken off..." he trailed off apologetically.

Aziraphale threw an arm over his husband's shoulder and pulled him into an embrace. He kissed his cheek hard and sniffed as he pulled back. "This is perfect," he whispered, another tear escaped before Crowley thumbed it away.

"I'm glad you like it. Shall we do it right this time?"

Aziraphale giggled and nodded. "Yes, darling, yes."

They enjoyed everything that was brought to the table. Aziraphale couldn't have been more shocked at the amount of food that kept coming. He tried a little bit of everything and was stuffed before the desserts arrived. Still, he managed to pack some of that away as well.

They were pleasantly tipsy when the waiter arrived with a new bottle of champagne, popping the cork right at the table and then pouring it into their glasses.

Crowley took his glass and held it up. 

Aziraphale followed quickly, eyes only for his husband. "What should we toast to?"

"Well, how about," Crowley raised his champagne glass a little bit higher, "to the World Wide Web?"

Aziraphale beamed, his eyes crinkling and watering at the same time. "To the World Wide Web," he replied with as much love as he could muster.

They clinked their glasses, smiling at one another, as happy as they were on their wedding day, both of them still completely blown away by how events had led them to this moment. To think, they once thought they would never meet someone so perfect for who they were. No relationship comes without its troubles, and maybe there is no such thing as Soulmates, but in a world of eight billion people, in a world becoming smaller by the day, chances are there is someone out there for everyone. 

No matter how hopeless it may have seemed, no matter what trials they had gone through, every moment of the journey was worth it. They were together, and they would stay together for the rest of their days.

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! Thank you so much again. I will be responding to comments, just very slowly. I love chatting with you all in the comments, on Instagram, on discord thank you so much for all the support and encouragement! 
> 
> I am trying to make a career out of writing, so it would be awesome if you could share my fanfics with people who you think would appreciate them. 
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe. I've had a family member contract COVID-19 and we're hoping he pulls through as quickly as possible. He's not in the hospital so that's a plus. Please, please, please if you feel sick stay home! He got it from his girlfriend, who got it from an employee at their office who felt a little sick but went to work anyway. They sent him home early but it was too late.
> 
> PSA over! Have a great week everyone! Remember you can always reach out to me on Instagram, it's the place I hang out on the most and on discord. I love interacting with you all! If you do have Instagram, comments on any of my posts with "add me" and I will add you to my close friends list so you can see my private insta stories!
> 
> Love you all! I hope to see you in the next story! Remember, I have three other ineffable husband fics available to read that are complete! Check those out! xoxoxoxoxoxo


End file.
